


Lawrence to Stanford, By Way of Pontiac

by undersail2013



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Asexual Castiel, Autistic Castiel, Biromantic Dean Winchester, Casa Erotica, Depression, F/M, Gabriel - Freeform, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Lucifer - Freeform, M/M, POV Multiple, Sam Ships It, benny - Freeform, dr fuller, named characters:, self-diagnosed autism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 10:50:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3117413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undersail2013/pseuds/undersail2013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will be the fourth and final annual trek from Lawrence to Stanford to drop Sam at school, with one minor change: a tag-along in the form of Sam’s new roommate.  The detour to Pontiac puts a small crimp in their travel plans, but they soon discover that a third wheel adds extra grip, greater stability.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lawrence to Stanford, By Way of Pontiac

**Author's Note:**

> Temporary note to let ya'll know that we had some extenuating circumstances... Apologies for posting so late; art is coming!

**Title:** Lawrence to Stanford, By Way of Pontiac

 **Author:** undersail2013

 **Artist:** clotpoleofthelord

 **Fandom/Genre:** Supernatural

 **Pairing(s):** Dean Winchester/Castiel, Sam Winchester/Jessica Moore

 **Rating:** Teen and Up

 **Word Count:** 20,701

 **Warnings:** homophobia, anxiety, depression, suicide; additional tags: college au, road trip, asexual Castiel, biromantic Dean, shipper Sam, self-diagnosed autism, autistic Castiel, Casa Erotica, multiple pov

 **Summary:** This will be the fourth and final annual trek from Lawrence to Stanford to drop Sam at school, with one minor change: a tag-along in the form of Sam’s new roommate.  The detour to Pontiac puts a small crimp in their travel plans, but they soon discover that a third wheel adds extra grip, greater stability.

**Monday, September 19**

**_2110, Glenwood Springs, CO_ **

“He's a weird dude.”  _A weird, dorky little guy._

Dean could see him in the rearview mirror. He was leaned up against the door, his tan coat pulled up to his chin like a blanket, his head tilted at a harsh angle. "His neck's gonna hurt like a bitch in the morning," Dean observed gruffly.

Sam craned his head to look at his new roommate, conked out in the backseat of the Impala. "Hmm," he agreed.

"For someone who claims not to sleep much, he sure sleeps like the dead."

Sam chuckled. "You like him, don't you?"

"What? Nah, I'm just saying."

"Dean, you've brought him up, like, every ten minutes since we left home.  The first time."

"I been driving non-stop all day with nothing but a baby in a trenchcoat for company," he replied with more venom than was strictly necessary. Okay, maybe he was a little embarrassed to admit it, but yeah, Sam was right: the guy had grown on him. More than that.  Shit, why couldn’t he just grow a pair, for fuck’s sake?  He softened his tone with a small laugh. "Still can't believe you convinced me to drive halfway across the country the wrong fucking way to pick him up."

"What was I supposed to do, Dean? It's his house!"

"I thought it was his brother's house."

Sam stifled a grin; clearly they’d conversed more than Dean let on. "Well yeah, same difference; we couldn't leave him stranded in Pontiac and expect him to still want to let me live there. Rent-free, no less. _And_ he's paying for gas for this behemoth, which is really above and beyond."

Dean snorted. "Please."

"Dean, have you eaten a single meal that wasn’t apple pie à la mode since we got on the road?”  He started to protest and Sam cut him off.  “I mean besides the French silk tonight.  The man is so grateful! Why can't you stow the-"

"Yeah yeah, I get it, it's just-" Dean glanced in the rearview again. "He look cold to you? Grab the blanket from behind your seat, and-"

That time, Sam laughed so loud, Dean jumped. "He's fine, Dean." He shook his head, and his shaggy hair bounced. "Seeing as you can't stand him and all," he teased, needling his big bro.

"I didn't say that.  I never said that.  I said he was weird."

"Right." Sam faked a yawn, then yawned for real. "How long did you say we have before next driver switch?"

 

***

 

Towards the end of his third year at Stanford, Sam had become acquainted with another junior by the name of Castiel.  Nice guy, a little eccentric, had a habit of wearing essentially the same clothes everyday: a black or navy suit with a rumpled white dress shirt and a blue tie that was somehow never straight, and more often than not, completely ass-backwards.  And the whole ensemble invariably  covered by a well-loved trenchcoat, hot or cold, rain or shine.  Sam had only known him for about a week before he began to picture a closet full of a dozen identical outfits, hanging in neat little rows on matching coat hangers. Not that Sam had much room to judge: nine days out of ten, he could probably be seen wearing a flannel and jeans. Not to mention that he'd always been the type to organize his closet within an inch of its life, pants with pants, shirts with shirts, everything hung in order and sorted by color.

Just another thing for his big brother to rib him about...

Although when it came to hyper-organization, Dean was just as bad, if not worse. Suffice to say that Sam had never thought to color-code the kitchen cabinets. And then there was the time Dean had blown his top over the DVDs: "It's simple alphabetizing, Sam; _Raiders_ comes after _Last Crusade_! And here, you can take that _Crystal Skull_ bullshit back to your room where it belongs."

So yeah, Castiel. He had struck Sam as a mite strange, but harmless, and generous to a fault. They weren't even Facebook friends, just more than nodding acquaintances, when Sam had mentioned in passing that his housing stipend had fallen through for the following year. Between Castiel ordering his sandwich and Sam receiving his, the other student had extracted a promise from Sam that he would "share lodgings" with him, airquotes included.

"I appreciate it, I do, but I really couldn't, Castiel. You hardly know me; I could be a serial killer for all you know."

He'd cocked his head at that. "So could I, for that matter. But the fact remains: my brother graduates soon and insists that I stay on in the house. It’s rather large.  There's more than enough space for two, and you'll have your own bedroom, bathroom, everything you could need."

They'd made a few, vague plans to hang out before the semester ended, just to get a feel for one another, but nothing ever came of it. Sam's exams were monsters, and Castiel had had business of his own to attend to. In fact, Sam hadn't been entirely sure that the other guy hadn't forgotten his promise, until the very last day, when Sam received a voicemail from the man.

"Hello, this message is for Sam Winchester. This is Castiel Kripke. The time is now-" there'd been a short fumbling, and then, "9:18. I'm just leaving my penultimate exam, and I have an hour and twelve minutes in which to meet with you before I take my last exam.  I have to leave for the airport no later than 1 pm for my return flight to Illinois for the summer. When you get this, please call me back. If you don't get this before five pm, I will be flying home. My number is-"

Sam checked the time: 10:21. _Shit,_ he thought, _ten minutes._ He found the 815 area code in his missed calls list and dialed Castiel's cell phone.  He’d half-expected that Castiel wouldn't pick up so close to the beginning of his exam, and he’d been right.  After an oddly endearing outbound recording that could only have been a holdover from his first-ever cell phone (“Please leave a message for:” “Why do they need my name?”), Sam had smiled to himself and left a detailed response regarding his plans for the summer and the best way to reach him. "Oh, and because, well, just because, I'm going to give you my brother's number, too.  Just in case. Hopefully, you'll never need it.”

At a quarter to four, as Sam was wading through a series of voicemails detailing his brother's latest girl drama, Castiel called back and had to leave a message: "I'm sorry for the delay, Sam; I'm still delighted to have you as a roommate. I hope we can meet this summer; otherwise, I will see you in the fall."

It took no fewer than ten (closer to fifteen) rounds of phone tag to arrange a meeting, and even that was just a Skype call, which eventually fell through, due to technical difficulties. In the end, they managed to relay most of the pertinent info via voicemail. Not ideal, but the plan was solid.

Until about a week before Dean and Sam had to be on the road for Stanford, when Castiel had called Sam out of the blue to ask a huge favor: "I need a ride."

And of course, Dean, who had spent such a long time negotiating with Sam for the privilege of driving him to school for the start of his last year, balked at sharing the trip with a guy who lived a whole day out of the way. Somewhat reluctantly, he had agreed to call the dude and hammer out the details, and somewhat reluctantly, he had hung up after almost two hours.

Sam never said a word about it.

**Sunday, September 18**

**_0807, I-70, Lawrence to Pontiac_ **

They left Lawrence, stocked to the gills with Funyuns and Mello Yello and rocking out to Sam’s Road Trip playlist.  He had added a bunch of Bon Jovi and Metallica for his brother, but the bulk of it was college-radio shit that had Dean climbing the walls in no time. 

“Dude,” Dean griped, “we’re not halfway through Missouri the _first_ time, and I already can’t stand your music.”

Sam glared at him.  “You told me to bring music I liked.”

“And,” he replied, a snarky grin creeping onto his face, “I told you to bring headphones. Driver-”

“Don’t say it.”

“-picks the music-”

“Please stop.”

“-shotgun shuts his-”

“You are a child.”

“-cakehole.  What?  House rules, Sammy.”

“I hate you so much.”

Dean smiled.  “No, you don’t.”  He thumped the steering wheel.  “Tell you what, find a few songs we’ll both like, and when we swap out drivers at Castiel’s place, you can listen to whatever Lilith Fair crap flips your skirt.”

“Wow, that’s so generous of you.”

“Right?”

“I was being sarcastic.”  Sam paused.  “Really, though, Lilith Fair?  You’re, like, a hundred years old.  You do know that, right?”

“Shut up, I’m hilarious.”  But the cockiness melted away under the glare Sammy gave him.  “Come on, Sammy, it’s not a road trip without a little brotherly bickering.  Huh?”

Sam made a noise in his throat.  “You can be such a jerk sometimes.”

“And you’re being a bitch,” he teased.  “Now, do we have a deal?”

“What?”

“Driver picks and the other guy shuts the fuck up.”

“I suppose that makes sense for now,” Sam mused, “but what happens when Castiel gets in the car?  He’s going to want a say, too.”

“Nah, he’ll be fine.”

“You don’t know-”

“Sure I do.  He says he doesn’t really listen to music much.  No, what he actually said was that he doesn’t have a preference.  He listens to what he likes and tunes out the rest.”

For a long, awkward moment, Sam said nothing, just stared at the side of his brother’s face.

“What?”

“Nothing, I just-  You actually talked to Castiel.  About … stuff?”

Dean looked like he should be nervous, like Sam’s laying a trap for him.  “Yeah,” he drawled.  “Is that a problem?”

Sam huffed.  “No, it’s not a problem.”

“Then what-”

“It’s a minor miracle.”

“Come again?”

“You-” He laughed.  “You made a friend!”

“Shut up, I have lots of friends.”

“Dean, you have Dad’s friends and my friends, and Benny, and that’s it.”

Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t respond. 

“I’m proud of you, Dean.”

“Ha.”

“I mean it.”  A stolen peek at Sam showed he wasn’t lying.  “Dude, I’m actually proud of you.”

Dean rolled his shoulder.  Twitched his neck like he found the compliments physically uncomfortable.  “Shut up.”

 

 

**_2214, Pontiac, IL_ **

Both Dean and Sam walked to the front door to retrieve Castiel and to help him with his bags.  Sam was startled to see him in normal clothes, a green t-shirt and a pair of old jeans, though he carried the coat draped over one arm.  It was nothing out of the ordinary, but so different from the usual suit.  He asked about the change and was told that the suit was a school thing.

“In any case, most of my belongings were shipped to California last week before the-”

Dean inclined his head and lifted an eyebrow, expectantly.  Apparently, _he_ hadn’t been told the reason for this detour, either.

“Nothing.  I have all of my essentials here.” 

Dean took the heaviest bag and toted it to the trunk.  “Any of these need to go in the cab?” he asked as he returned for a second.

“Just the one Sam has.  And this one has, um, snacks.”

“Snacks?”  Sam asked.

“Yes.  I understand that snacks are essential on a ‘road trip.’”

Sam started to chuckle over Cas’ airquotes, but when he saw how seriously his brother nodded, saw how steadily he watched Cas’ face, Sam swallowed the laughter and cleared his throat instead.  “If we’re gonna get back to Kansas tonight…”

“Right.” 

They piled into the car, Sam driving, Cas riding shotgun, and Dean prepared to zonk out for a bit in the backseat.

“Before you pass out, Dean, which direction do I want to go to get back to 55?”

“Turn left out of the driveway,” Cas jumped in, pointing north.  “You can keep going straight on Walnut or turn onto Manlove.”

“I’m sorry, did you say-”

“Yes, Manlove.  Manlove Court.  There’s also Manlove Street, but if you get there, you’re going the wrong way.”

Fourteen-year-old Sam struggled again not to laugh.  He looked to see if Cas was joking (of course he wasn’t; did the guy ever joke?), then glanced back and found that Dean had fallen suddenly, completely, irrefutably asleep with an arm over his somehow very pink face.  “Okay, so if I go straight on Walnut?”

“It’ll dead-end; turn left, then right, then left onto Reynolds.”

“Got it.  So uh, how long have you lived around here, Cas?” 

“Um, here, at my sister’s house?  Ten days.  But my family has been in Pontiac for years.”

Sam hesitated to ask why Castiel would move so soon before his semi-permanent move back to college.  He was pretty sure he’d heard a whole story hiding behind his swift “Nothing” at the doorstep, so he hedged.  “May I ask wh-”

“No.”

“Fair enough.”

Sam switched on the stereo at the next turning.  His selections weren’t nearly as bad as Dean said; most of the tracks were older acts that Dean probably knew better than he’d care to acknowledge.  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Castiel tapping his fingers against his knee to an old Smashing Pumpkins song, and he was pretty sure he even sang along quietly to Björk.

Back on the highway, Sam asked about the snacks.

“Oh.  Anna purchased a few things for us when she did the shopping yesterday.  She suggested that bringing food to share would be a good way of showing my gratitude to you for driving so far out of your way.  She wanted to drive me as far as Lawrence, but it wasn’t feasible with her schedule.  She has to take the boys to summer camp in the morning and she’s meeting with the guidance counselor for her daughter-”

Sam cleared his throat, interrupting as gently as he could.  “What, uh, what kind of snacks did she pack?”

He looked a bit embarrassed, but he fetched the bulging tote bag from the floorboard and rummaged through it as if it hadn’t occurred to him to investigate until this very moment.   He rattled off the contents as he dug.  “Swiss Cake Rolls.  Nutty Bars.  Um, beef jerky.  Granola bars.  Two types of granola bars,” he corrected himself.  He looked up at the driver.  “Would you like a bag of Doritos, Sam?  Or pretzels?”

“Pretzels, please.  And grab yourself a drink from the cooler.”

“Did you want a drink, too?”

Sam shook his head and lifted the ancient take-out cup of coffee stashed between his thighs.  

Castiel quickly buried his head in his bag of snacks, looking for something else to offer.

 

 

**_2137, Lawrence, KS_ **

Dean apologized for not having much food on hand.  He stuck his head in the fridge.  “There’s not much here that’s edible.  Haven’t been shopping this week because of leaving town.  But we still got a little bit of Friday’s Chinese food, Sam, and (what is that, half a can?) of Spaghetti-O’s.  Oh, and a few frozen burritos, too.”  He turned around to catch their wary glances.  He looked again.  “We still have milk and eggs to use up, and a shitload of bacon.  Sam, check the cabinet for pancake mix.” 

“Yup.  You have, uh, grits in here, too.”

“Chocolate chips?”  Castiel asked.

Sam searched a minute.  “Yeah, got those, too.”

“Breakfast for dinner, it is!”  Dean beamed.  “Three for pancakes?”  Everyone nodded.  He pointed at Castiel.  “With chocolate chips.  You do bacon, dude?”

“Yes.  And grits.”

“Butter or cheese?”

“Both?”

“Awesome.  Man after my own heart.”  He grinned and turned away.  “Sam, do me a favor and get the plates and forks.  And syrup.  And the butter.”  He busied himself in silence for some time, heating an antique cast-iron skillet too big for the burner, mixing up batter, laying out toppings.  Not in silence: he hummed while he worked.

Sam came back to the small kitchen island and leaned over the sink to watch his brother work.  He marveled, “He’s never so happy as when he’s cooking.  Dude, you should go to culinary school.”

“Me?  Nah.  I wouldn’t be any good at it.  Waste of damn money.”

“No, really,” Sam went on.  “You’d be great at it.  Wouldn’t be as dirty as fixing cars-” 

“I like fixing cars, Sam,” a bit curt.

“-and it would give you an excuse to meet new people.  Make some friends-”  There was a hint of desperation in his voice.

Dean rounded on Sam, poking the air with the spatula.  “We’re not having this discussion right now.  I’m fine.  I’m not lonely or sad or whatever the hell your angle is; I’m fine.  Drop it.”  Sam threw his hands up and stomped off to watch TV as angrily as he knew how.  Dean glanced at Castiel, still stationed beside the countertop, and shrugged half-heartedly before turning back to the stove.   “He’s been riding me all summer about going to school for something or other.  I just-  Why now?  I don’t see the point.”

“Are you asking me for advice, Dean?”

He looked up from the skillet.  “Huh?  No, I don’t-”  Shaking his head, he muttered, “Nah, just venting.” 

“ _Are_ you lonely?  Or sad?”

“Nah.  It doesn’t matter.  I work all week to pay for these luxurious digs,” gesturing widely.  “And the rest goes to his school, which, I don’t have to tell _you_ , costs too fucking much anyway.”

“I’m on scholarship, and his parents are loaded,” Sam shouted from the other room.

“Partial scholarship, and go watch your dumb cartoons.  The grown-ups are talking.”

“It’s _The Simpsons_.”

“Whatever!”  He shook his head and blew out a breath.  “So yeah, I don’t know where the hell I’m supposed to find the time or the money to go to school _and_ have this fabulous social life he wants me to have.”  He pulled the last of the pancakes from the skillet and shoved them too roughly onto the baking sheet in the oven to stay warm.  One fell off the other side, but he didn’t seem to care.  “How you like your eggs?”

“Sunny side up.”

Dean cracked two eggs and then two more.  “I dunno, man.  Sammy’s got one more year, and then he’ll be here to help with the bills.  Maybe then we can talk about school for me, but until then,” he looked over his shoulder at his brother, “until then, I just have to make it one more year.”

Castiel nodded, even though he didn’t perfectly understand. 

“Anyway.  I’m not _lonely_ ,” he argued.  “I’ve got Benny.  Guy who runs the garage.  He and Andrea have me over a couple of times a week, make sure I’m eating.”  He chuckled.  “You wanna talk about someone who should go to culinary school, Benny is- Yeah.  Benny’s good people.  He takes care of me.”  He sounded wistful, if a man like Dean Winchester could ever be called that.  “Anyway.  Here’s your plate.”  He doled out the pancakes and bacon.  “And this is for Sammy.  Take it out, will ya?  Just waiting for my eggs to finish.” 

By the time Dean sat down to eat, the tension in the room had evaporated, like there had never been a fight.  Castiel and Sam were discussing the finer points of Helm’s Deep, including the insult of elvish interference. 

“We could watch that tonight,” he offered as he slid into his seat.

Castiel looked at Dean sternly.  “Theatrical or director’s cut?”

“Director’s!  Duh,” and shoved half a pancake into his maw.  “Ooh, drinks.”  He swallowed and asked, “OJ or coffee from this morning?”

“Coffee, please.  Black.  It can be cold, I don’t care.”

“OJ,” Sam said, making a face over old, cold coffee.  “Anyway, do we really have time for a movie tonight, Dean?  It’s already kinda late, and you wanted to leave by six.”

“I said we need to be up by six, but as long as we’re on the road before seven, we’re golden.  What do we have to do in the morning?  Just shove your shit in the trunk.  Want an ice cube for that, Cas?”

“Yes.  Just one.”

“’Kay.  And wash the dishes, _notit_.”  

“Not it.  Dammit!”  Sam shot his brother a dirty look, which only intensified with the smug smile Dean gave him. 

Chuckling, he grabbed a pancake from his plate with his fingers.  It sagged, and he shook it to make it jiggle.  “For what it’s worth, there are plenty of pancakes for the morning.  And I’ll make a fresh pot of coffee.”

“Thank god.” 

Dean laughed at his brother as the microwave beeped and he retrieved his reheated dregs. 

“That’s so gross, guys,” Sam whined.

Dean was still laughing.  “Listen, California Boy, we drank worse than that growing up, huh?  ’Member the time the apple juice turned and you got wasted?”

“I told Dad it didn’t taste good.”

“Yeah well.”  He looked uncomfortable.  Guilty, maybe.  “If he’d tasted it, he would have drunk it all himself.”  A heavy silence fell.  “Anyway.  Cas doesn’t seem to mind day-old sludge.”

“When’d you start calling him Cas, anyway?” Sam asked, masterfully changing the subject. 

Dean froze.  “Uh.  I dunno.  Sorry, man,” he told Castiel, his hands wide, “I’m a nickname guy, I just-”

“It’s fine,” he muttered through a mouthful of food.  He gulped his coffee and swallowed the last of his pancakes before turning his eyes to Dean. “I’ve actually never had a good nickname before, so um.  I like it.” 

“Okay,” Sam nodded.  “Cas, then.”  He looked back and forth between his brother and his new roommate.  When neither broke eye contact, he cleared his throat.  “How about I work on these dishes, then?”  He grabbed the empty plates and strode into the kitchen.

Dean was the first to shake himself free.  “Uh, _Two Towers_?” 

“Please.”

Sam passed out in the armchair not long after the movie started.  (“He’s not used to all those carbs,” Dean had joked, while Cas nodded solemnly.)  Long before Merry and Pippin made it to Fangorn, even, so he missed Dean and Castiel discussing the helmet scene. 

“That must take balls,” Dean muttered. 

“What’s that?”  Cas asked.  They were both on the couch, barely.  Dean was practically hugging his armrest.

“Well, you know he broke his foot there.”

“His toe.  Yes.  I’m aware.”  He squinted at the television.  “It must be very hard not to ‘break character’ when that happens.”

“No shit.  And then to turn that into the best take?  The one that actually makes it on film?  Amazing.”  He stared somewhere beyond the small TV screen.  “I wonder if I could do that.”

“Are you an actor?”

“Yes, I play this asshole character called Dean Winchester every day of my life.”  It was clearly meant to be a joke, but neither of them felt compelled to smile. 

“Yes, I understand how that feels.”

Dean was up to change the disc before either of them spoke again.  “Did you want some popcorn or a drink or-?”

“I would eat some popcorn.  Thank you.”

When it was ready, Dean plopped the bowl on the seat next to Cas and sat close so they could share.  “I never cook much for myself, but Sammy doesn’t know that.  Whenever he’s home, I go nuts.  Blow the whole food budget for the week on fucking Taco Night.  I dunno.”

“You miss him when he’s gone.”

He rubbed at his eyes.  “Yeah.  Yeah man, he’s like, he’s my family.  He’s all I got.”

“What happens when he moves out?”

Dean laughed.  “I don’t think I have to worry about that any time soon!  His home is here.  Always will be.”  He turned his eyes to Cas, but Cas was engrossed in the movie. 

**Monday, September 19**

**_1059, I-70, Lawrence to Denver_ **

Dean rolled his eyes and slapped at his cheek.  “Jesus, we’re still almost two hours from the border.”

“Is that a problem?”  Cas asked, startling Dean.

“Hey sorry, didn’t know you were awake.”

“I don’t sleep much.”

Dean hummed.  He answered Cas’ question: “Nah, just bored as fuck.  Already.  I’ve heard this album three times, there’s fuck-all on the radio, and I don’t really wanna be alone in my head right now.”

“Ah.”

“So.”

“So?”

“So talk to me.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t care.  Anything.  Entertain me, keep me awake.”

“Um.  Okay.”  Cas paused a long moment.  “Would it help if I played some of my music?”

Surprised, Dean replied, “I thought you said you didn’t care what we listened to.”

“I don’t, but I always have my own, too.”

“Oh.  What kind?”  Dean asked a bit warily.

“I don’t listen to any particular type.  There is such a variety of sounds, so many different forms of music, and it fascinates me, all the permutations.”

“Hmm.  Okay, give me your favorite and let’s have a listen.”

Cas dug to the bottom of his bag until he unearthed a massive CD caddy.

Dean whistled.  “Damn, dude.”

Cas ignored him, poring over each track list, deciding.  “Okay, I think this is the one.”  He popped it into the player.

A metallic screech issued forth, and Dean nearly ejected the disc again, slapping at the controls.  “What the hell is that?”  He glanced to Sam in the rearview, be he hadn’t so much as stirred.

“It’s Balinese.”

“Is that a band?”

Cas stared.  “It’s a culture.”

“Right.”  They listened in silence for a minute before Dean asked, “So, uh, why this then?  It have special significance for you, or…?”

“No, I just like it,” he shrugged.  “I like the cacophonous percussion and the way the voices blend.”

“Huh.  Well, ‘cacophonous’ is right.”  Dean holds his peace until the end of the song _or whatever_ , plotting a polite way to give the CD the fuck back without hurting Cas’ feelings, but the next track took him by surprise.

_“Children behave / That’s what they say when we’re together…”_

“Uh, it’s a mixed tape,” Cas blurted by way of excuse.

“Oh yeah?  A girl make it for you?”

“No,” Cas answered quickly, shifting in his seat.  “I made it.  For me.” 

“Ah.”

“You can change it if you want.”

Dean considered.  “Nah, it’s cool.”

“I’m sure that Tiffany really isn’t your style.”

“Cas.”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Shh.”  He caught his eye briefly and threw him a smile.  “It’s cool.”

Cas relaxed.  By the time the chorus kicked in, he had the pleasure of watching Dean lip-syncing along, and he outright laughed when Dean began to sing softly.

“Shut up, it’s a good song.”

“It is,” Cas agreed.

Dean glanced at Cas, did a double-take.  “What?”

“Um.  What, what?”

“Dude, you’re staring.”

“Apologies.”

Dean smiled.  “What’s up?  Whatcha thinking about?” he asked as gruffly as possible.

“I’m thinking- Well.  It’s not of import.”

Another smile, and this one comes with a chuckle.

“What?” Cas asked, taken aback.

“Just the way you talk sometimes.  I can’t decide if you’re a robot or an alien.”

Cas bristled.  “Um, neither.  Are you mocking me?”

“No!  Hey Cas, sorry, I didn’t mean- Okay, we know that I have no filter.  Sorry, man.”

“I suppose I can’t fault anyone with impulse control issues.  People in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.  Right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean replied uncertainly.

“I’m just very sensitive about the robot thing.  I’ve worked too hard for too long to be harassed-”

“Whoa!  Sorry, no; not harassment, just, uh.  Wait.  What?”

“I’m not exactly what you might call ‘normal.’  You might have noticed.”

“Um, okay.  Sorry.”  Dean blew out a breath and let the conversation lapse into an uneasy silence.  After a few abrupt musical twists, Dean hazarded another question.  “I can’t figure out this compilation at all.  Is there a theme?”

“A theme?  Um, almost.” 

“Almost?”

“They’re, um, they’re sort of in order by color. I have a touch of synesthesia.”

“Is that the letters as colors thing?”

“Roughly speaking, yes.”

“So what color are these?”

Cas remained silent until Dean repeated the question.  “Um.  This disc moves from light to dark.  Mostly black and white.  But with flashes of color.  To be honest, I’m not sure how much of it is sensory and how much is imagination and memory.”

“Huh.” 

A short silence followed.  “Go ahead and ask.”

“What?”

“Why there’s so much girl music.”

Dean shrugged.  “I didn’t think- There’s no such thing.”

Cas turned his head to stare at Dean again.  He squinted with his lower lids. “It’s embarrassing and stupid.”

“What is?”

“The thing.  That I was thinking of telling you earlier.”

“Oh that.”  Dean coughed once.  “Embarrassing for you or embarrassing for me?”

“Maybe both.”

Dean paused.  “Okay, I’m tough; talk to me.” 

“I, um,” Cas hemmed and hawed a moment before deciding, “I’ll tell it a different way.  I don’t live with my parents anymore, as of this month, and um, it’s due to this trip.”

Dean wondered about that.  “I don’t get it, Cas.  Didn’t you ask us to drive you _because_ you weren’t speaking to your folks?”

“Yes, that’s true.  Thing is, I let slip, um, something they hadn’t known.  About my new roommate.”

Dean held his breath and felt his hackles rise.  “What about Sammy?”

“Not about Sam.”  Cas cleared his throat.  “About me.  About how I, um, _mighthavehadacrushonhim_.”

“Oh.”  That was worse, and Dean couldn’t explain why.  He was ready to be furious at some elitist prick looking down on his baby brother.  And with their upbringing, it wouldn’t have been the first time Dean flew into a rage to defend him.  But this?  Cas with a crush?  On Sam?  _Cas is gay or whatever.  Cas likes Sam._

Dean can’t decide if he’s more sad for Cas, because Sam’s straight-as-an-arrow heart is gonna break Cas’.  Or if he’s disappointed that it’s not him.

Definitely the second one.

“Oh,” he repeats, feeling listless.

“Yeah,” Cas mutters, as if Dean didn’t just have an epiphany about crushing on Cas while Cyndi Lauper sang about true colors.

“Cas, I’m sorry.”

“As am I.  They made it quite clear that I should, um, straighten up and fly right.”

“So you left on your own, or-?”

“Yes.  There were some threats made, some assurances on their end that if I just prayed harder, I’d- But the final straw was my father’s assertion that I would break my mother’s heart when (not if, you understand, but when) I died of AIDS.”

Dean hissed, his hands tight on the wheel, spoiling for a fight.

Cas just nodded.  “Somehow I managed to collect my few remaining belongings, calmly and without violence.  But um, it was not pleasant.”

“Cas, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.  All of that, only to discover that, though I love Sam, he is more like a brother to me than a prospective lover.”

“Oh?” Dean asks with more relief than he had intended.

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that a black fly in your Chardonnay?”

Cas glanced at Dean quizzically. 

Dean couldn’t resist a smug smirk at his bewilderment. 

They let the sounds of Tibetan throat-singing wash over them for some minutes.  It wasn’t until the first strains of “I Can’t Fight This Feeling” began to play that Dean plucked up the courage to say, “I guess neither of us are the men our fathers wanted us to be.”

Cas said nothing, silently capturing Dean’s hand in his.  Dean didn’t protest.

 

***

 

Dean pushed another hour past their scheduled driver swap before he surrendered.  Pulling into the first convenient Gas ’n’ Sip, he carefully extricated his hand from a sleeping Castiel.  He glanced back at Sam: also asleep. 

From the speakers came familiar words: _“Who hides behind a mask / Secret secret, I’ve got a secret / So no one else can see / Secret secret, I’ve got a secret / My true identity”_

As Dean shyly pressed a whisper-soft kiss to Cas’ hand, he heard a murmured, “Domo arigato.”  He started, but it was just Cas talking in his sleep.  Still unconscious, he pulled his hand away and curled his body towards the passenger door. 

Dean ran off to fill the tank, leaving the music playing.

Coming back some twenty minutes later, the CD was still going, and his brother and friend were still dead to the world.  He yanked the door open just in time to hear _“…for me to holler / Girl, I wanna wallow in the back of my Impala.”_

“Oh hell no,” he muttered, louder than he meant to, and he threw himself across the driver’s seat to stab at the buttons.

Sam jumped, suddenly awake.  “What?  What is it, Dean?”  

“Shh, nothing, Sammy, just Cas’ shitty music.”  His head jerked towards Cas to see if he’d heard, but he was still asleep.  Dean put a finger to his lips and stood up next to the car.  From the roof, he handed down a coffee for Sam, a red Gatorade for Cas, and a bag of road food: beef jerky, gas-station taquitos, and a can of those crappy shoestring potatoes that Dad always bought and no one ever ate until the money ran out.  “Here, breakfast of champions.  Don’t say I never got you nothing.”

“Jesus, Dean, these nasty things?  Why can’t you get Pringles like a normal person?”

Dean shrugged.  “I dunno, why can’t you cut your hair like a normal person.”  He made a goofy face, a lopsided smile and a little head wiggle, a laugh at his own joke.  More seriously, he added, “Anyway, it’s tradition.”

Sam was evidently not awake enough for a conversation about their fucked-up childhood, and he changed the subject fast.  “Where are we?”

“Not too far from Denver.  But I don’t see us leaving the state much before midnight.  We’ll want to detour around the city as much as possible.  Rush hour, you know.  You good to drive?”

“Yeah, fine, great.”  He rubbed at his eyes.  “What time is it?”

“A little after three.”

“What?  Oh man, sorry, you could have woken me.”

“Apparently, I couldn’t,” Dean laughed.  “We called your name for twenty minutes at the border, and you didn’t crack.  We even sang.  It was really terrible.  No one should be able to sleep through that.  Now swap me places and let’s get a move on.”

Dean stayed awake just long enough to watch Sam’s reaction to the Quad City DJs.  Satisfied to see his brother scrabbling for the power button, he chuckled and propped himself against the back door, arms folded across his chest and one leg flung across the whole backseat.

Cas was still asleep, too, so Sam quietly flipped over to his iPod.  Dean, just dropping off, flinched at the opening to “Spice up Your Life.”  Bastard was gonna listen to that atrocity for _hours_ just for one minute of vengeance!

Dean had to smile.  He was gonna miss this.  He always did.  

 

 

**_1924, I-70, Denver to Glenwood Springs_ **

When Cas awoke, Sam tried to accommodate him, tried to listen to his CDs, but the mix of music was so … so _disconcerting_!   He started rethinking this whole roommate thing. 

Not really.  Sam wasn’t so shallow as that.

Was he?

No, it was just a simple difference of taste; he was sure that they could make it a house rule or something, no music in the common areas.  And Cas seemed like a good guy.  He liked things to be neat and orderly, didn’t complain much.  Hell, didn’t talk much.  And really, if Sam could tolerate living with Dean, he could room with anyone. 

“Hey Cas?”

“Yes, Sam?”

He cleared this throat.  “Hey, uh, what do you say, after this, uh, song, we switch over to the radio for a while?”

“Um, that’s fine.  I can change it now.”

“You don’t have to.”  Sam had never lied so unconvincingly.

Sam could feel Cas squinting at him, his eyes boring into his brain.  “You don’t care for chanting.”

He blew out a breath.  “It’s kind of an acquired taste, don’t you think?” 

Cas was still watching him.

“You okay, Cas?”

“Dean likes it.”

Sam laughed involuntarily.  “Okay, sure.”  Sneaking a peek towards the passenger seat startled him into silence.  “You’re serious.”  Cas didn’t say anything further for the moment.  “But Dean doesn’t listen to-”  He listens to the same five albums on repeat.  He complains about anything newer than 1985. He definitely does not allow unworthy tunes to defile his sacred car’s blessed little speakers. 

Sam needed a minute to process this.

 _Dean likes Cas.  Like,_ likes _Cas._

More like a whole day to process this.

The things he didn’t know about his brother.  _Huh._

They didn’t exchange more than a handful of words until they pulled off the highway for dinner.  House rule, stop for dinner.  You drove better, longer, if you actually got out of the car for an hour or two, even if it was just to sit down again to eat.  Making good time didn’t matter much if you reached your destination all strung out from the road. 

“Wake up, Dean,” Sam reached back and nudged his knee.  “You ready to eat?”

“Huh?  Yeah, yeah I’m up.”   He twisted upright, popping his joints and stretching as best he could, bleary until he spotted a familiar orange and black sign.  He rubbed his hands together and crowed, “Village Inn French silk tonight!”

Sam rolled his eyes as they piled out.  “You know, Dean, would it kill you to eat something that’s not pie for once?”

“Maybe wouldn’t kill me, but it sure as hell wouldn’t be any fun,” he argued, winking at Cas.

Sam goggled.  Next chance he had to talk to Dean alone, he _had_ to say something.  But what would he say that wouldn’t make Dean clam up and get defensive? _Hey Dean, that Cas guy, huh, what a catch?  You must be in love with him, right?_

No, but a simple, _Hey, what do you think of Cas_ would do.  Maybe if Cas fell asleep before him, he’d give that a try.  Sam smiled and shook his head and followed the others inside.

 

 

**_2323, I-70, Glenwood Springs to Grand Junction_ **

_“Little drops of rain / Whisper of the pain / Tears of loves lost / In the days gone by / My love is strong / With you there is no wrong”_

Dean was singing softly to the music as Cas came back to consciousness.  He hummed sleepily and added his poor voice, “An inspiration is what you are to me.” 

“Cas?  You awake?”

“Mm-hmm.”  He had yet to open his eyes, content to listen in the darkness.

“You’re singing?”

“Mm-hmm.  ‘Thank You.’”

“Dude!” 

Cas jolted and his eyes flew open.  “What?”

“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, I just- You know Zep?”  He sounded awed.

“Mm-hmm.”  He rolled his neck, stretching the sleepy stiffness out of his muscles and yawned before digging into his bag.  He pulled out the CD case.  Remembering Sam’s reaction, he asked, “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.”

Cas yawned again as he selected the right CD and passed it forward.  “Track one.”  He watched Dean so he could see the reaction when the music began. 

As he’d hoped, Dean lit up.  He turned as far as he dared towards Cas.  “‘Thank You.’  Cas.”  He tried to remember if he’d seen Dean speechless. 

“I have others, if you like.”

“Shh.  Not yet.”  He turned it up and sang along.  His voice grew somewhat stronger in the final verse.  “‘ _Happiness, I’m glad.’_   Dude,” he sighed.

“I have more,” Cas repeated.  “Which is your favorite?”

“‘Ramble On.’  No, ‘Travelling Riverside Blues.’  Uh, either.”

Cas frowned.  “I have both.  But they’re on different CDs.”

“You have both?  Damn, I love you!” But his face changed.  Even from the backseat, Cas could see his eyes go wide, heard him gulp.  Dean kept his face intently forward, and his knuckles looked painfully white from the force he used to grip the steering wheel.  “Figure of speech,” he croaked.

“Oh.”  Cas let his eyes rake over Dean’s profile.  “Figure of speech,” he agreed. 

“Yeah.”  He was rather quiet through the playback of every Zeppelin song in Cas’ catalogue.  More than once, he mouthed the words silently.  Whenever Cas sang a few lyrics, Dean would shake his head softly and join him.  “What color is this one?” he asked once.

“I usually think of Led Zeppelin songs as black, but also … shiny?  This one is more green.”  Then more silence.

“Let’s go get a beer,” he blurted, mid-“Stairway.”

“Um, do you really think that’s wise?”

Dean shrugged.

“I don’t really drink.”

“Don’t really?”

“Haven’t ever.”

“Oh.  Never mind.”

Cas reached out his hand and laid it on Dean’s forearm.  “Haven’t.  Not won’t.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Dean hummed.  “Yeah.  Okay.  Let’s find a shitty bar and have a beer.”

 

**Tuesday, September 20**

**_0009, I-70, outside Grand Junction, CO_ **

This was Dean’s now-or-never moment and he was freaking out.  If Cas had been Cassie, no big deal, but dudes, man.  Flirting with guys was _hard_.  Made him realize the kind of asshole lines he usually used.  He shuddered and returned to picking apart the nonsense he had actually said: _Let’s go get a beer._   Okay, was that, “hey, we’re friends, let’s get a beer?”  Or was that a creepy, “oh yeah, you never drink, you must be a lightweight, let me get you drunk and fuck you.”  Shit.  Fuck.  Shitfuck. 

To be fair, it was almost midnight on a Monday night, and the chances of finding anything open at all weren’t really great, but Dean let himself get worked up into such a lather over taking Cas for a beer that he couldn’t actually pay attention to the roadside long enough to see if he passed a place.  Dean, with his zero experience, worried about how he could possibly measure up.  _I mean yeah, he’s not a drinker, but what if he’s, ya know, got experience with guys?  Maybe he’s been with a bunch of guys.  Oh shit, I don’t know what I’m doing!  What if I’m no good at it?  Hell, I don’t even know if I wanna.  Fuck.  And if Cas is actually gay,_ Dean wondered, _not bi or whatever, he’s not gonna get it, he’s not gonna get me getting the jitters. He’s gonna wonder what the hell I’m so nervous about; he’s gonna see right through me; he’s gonna know I’m a guy virgin._ He tried to calm himself, tried to set his fears aside and go with the flow.  _Yeah right._  He tried to bolster his confidence by running over the usual game plan.  _What would Dean Winchester do,_ he thought with a chuckle.  But it didn’t work.  The way he’d act or speak with a woman felt somehow wrong in this scenario.  _I’m_ used _to being the man, I’m_ used _to taking charge.  But with a guy, I- I don’t know.  I_ want _to take care of him and protect him; it’s what I’m good at!  It’s what I’d do if he was a chick, right?  It’s like I_ should _ask him out.  So why does it feel so weird to step up, and I dunno, take the lead? If I don’t, well, what if he never does?  And what if I miss this chance because I’m too chickenshit to act on it.  Jesus Christ, I wish I hadn’t said anything._

Dean scratched at the back of his neck, before peeking back at Cas in the rearview mirror.  He was frowning.  “What?  You’re staring again.”

“You don’t look comfortable.”  Dean relaxed his death grip on the steering wheel and leaned back in his seat.  His shoulders wouldn’t unclench, though.  “You’re troubled.”

Dean tried to shake it off.  “Nah, I’m fine.”

“You passed two bars.”

“Oh, I, uh-”

“There’s another on the left.  Just ahead.”

“Oh.”  He exhaled.  “Thanks, Cas, I would’ve missed it.”

“You’re welcome.”  He chewed his lip and waited until Dean swung the Impala into the parking lot and killed the engine before saying, “We don’t have to do this.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to-”

“I’m saying,” he interrupted, “ _you_ don’t have to do this.”

“What?”

Cas sighed.  “I know, I’m weird.  Yes.  I’m aware.  And you don’t have to … make friends.  With me.”

“Cas.”  Dean took off his seatbelt so he could turn and fully face Cas.  Even propped his leg on the seat oh-so-casually, _casual, that’s what this is_.  “I’m not trying to make friends.  I’m asking if you,” gesturing awkwardly across the seatback, “want to have a beer with me,” with another awkward flourish towards his own chest.

“Like a date.”

Dean nodded like he wasn’t terrified.

“Oh.  Okay.”  Now Cas looked troubled.  “Dean?  It’s, um, it’s just a beer, though, right?  I mean, we couldn’t-” he pointed at Sam, asleep in the front seat.

Dean caught on right away, and jumped on the excuse a little too eagerly.  “Yeah, right, no, we couldn’t … do … anything.  Sam and all.”  He took a deep breath and scrubbed his hand through his hair.  “But you’re okay with-”

“A beer.  Yes.”

“Yeah okay.  Good.  Should I, um, should I get your door, or-?”

Cas frowned.  “I’m perfectly capable.”

“Right.  Yeah.”  He nudged Sam’s leg, not enough to wake him: “We’re just pulling over for a drink.  You can stay asleep.” Sam grunted but didn’t stir; Dean slipped out his side, barely processing that the driver’s side door was open.  

Cas stood holding the handle with an uncomfortable air.  “Is this okay?” he asked.

Dean beamed, even as he ducked his head.  “Plenty okay.” 

 

 

**_0154, I-70, outside Grand Junction, CO_ **

Sam startled awake to the sound of men shouting outside the vehicle.  His mind slowly coupled the idea _we’re stopped_ to the realization that neither Dean nor Cas was in the car.  He sat up straight, all blurriness gone.  “Dean!”

Looking around, he noticed three things.  Parking lot.  Bar.  Brawl.  _Shit.  What did you do, Dean?_   Sam shot out the door in a flash and nearly toppled a bystander.  Cas was right in the middle of things, literally surrounded by four big roughneck guys, but Sam hesitated to jump in without knowing for sure who was right and who was stupid (he had two guesses on the latter).   But where was Dean?  There, standing a good twenty yards away.  He looked shell-shocked.  _What the hell?_

Just as Sam moved to intercede and drag Cas away, the inside of the circle exploded in a flurry of limbs.  Heavy bodies collided and collapsed, and at the epicenter, Cas, calmly dispatching one drunk redneck after another.  “He’s a martial artist,” Sam muttered.  He looked again at his brother.  _Ah, that explains it._   Dean would never admit it, not in a million years, but he always did have a hard-on for the warrior types.  _Huh._   Dean liking Cas, gee, who had called that?  He spared a fond smile before turning his full attention to the melee.  Cas was panting, last man standing.  Careful to stay in his line of sight, no sudden movements, no surprises, Sam called out his name and reached for his sleeve.  “Dude, it’s over.  C’mon.  Dean!”

He lifted his eyes, still dazed.

“We gotta go!”

“Right.”  Dean latched on to Cas’ other side and helped him to the car.  “Cas, are you okay?”

“In first.  I’m driving,” Sam barked.

Dean fell into the backseat after Cas, slamming the door and shouting, “Go go go.”

The Impala’s tires spun on the gravel before catching and peeling out.  Sam had no idea where they were nor which direction to go.  He turned right, hoping for the best.  He fumbled with the GPS and tossed it to Dean.  “Here. Set it for me.”

Dean gawked at it for a minute, uncomprehendingly.  “Cas is hurt.  We need to pull over.”

“The cops are probably on their way.  We can’t, dude.”

“Just, please!”

Sam relented.  “Okay, uh, check the GPS for the closest Wally World or something.”

“Okay, I can do that.”  He murmured something to Cas.  Cas grunted in return.

“Cas, you okay?” Sam asked.  “What’s wrong, what’s hurt?”

“My wrist, ah.  It’s nothing.”

“He’s got road rash.  He’s probably got rocks in his damn skin.  Oh Jesus, Cas, I’m sorry, man!  This is all my fault.”

“It isn’t, Dean.  Ow.  I accepted their bet.”

“Someone wanna tell me what the hell happened back there?  Dean, the GPS.”

“Right, yeah.”  _Calculating,_ it chirped.  “Here.”  He rubbed his face with both hands.  “I’ll tell it.  We stopped for a beer-”

“On a road trip.”

“Not the best idea, granted.  We were just gonna have one, I swear.  And then I saw the pool table.  Cas had never played, Sammy!  I had to show him how-”

“Are you drunk?  _How_ are _you_ drunk?”

“No!  It was just two beers-”

“Three beers,” Cas corrected him.

“-three beers-”

“And the rest of mine.”

“Yeah.”

“And the pink thing.”

“Shut the fuck up, I didn’t.”

“Yes.  You had the pink thing.  I didn’t get one,” he told Sam very earnestly.

“Yeah well, you coulda had one, so don’t be all jealous of mine.”

Sam waved his hand.  “Fine.  Moving on.”

Dean shifted to give Cas’ wounded arm a bit more space.  “Okay?” he asked under his breath.

“Yes, Dean.”

“We’ll get you fixed up soon.  Hang on.”

“The bar?”  Sam asked.

“Three and a half beers and a pink thing,” shaking his head slowly.  “I should not be this fucked up.  So I showed him how to play pool.”

Cas giggled.

“Shut up,” Dean cooed.  Cooed.  Dean.  Literally.

“I never knew that pool was a full-contact sport.”

“Shut up!”  Dean shrieked this time.  “These guys hear me giving Cas a lesson-”

“He was holding my hand.”

“Dude!  So they come over and want to challenge us.   Two against one, right?  I coulda beat this guy with my eyes closed, but whatever, I said no, wouldn’t be fair to Cas.  But I play one for a beer, why not, me against their two best.  ’Cause I can.  And that was our second beers, because you _know_ I killed ’em.  So Cas, he’s toasty, he goes to get me the pink thing because he’s a sonofabitch, and another beer.  And while he’s at the bar, he tells one of the guys that he’ll play.  Us two together against their worst.  And it’s cool, until the guy throws down a coupla twenties.”

“Dean,” Sam admonished.

 “For the record, _I_ tried to back out.  But Cas is like, I got this.  Yeah well, he don’t got this.”

“The rules are complicated.  I didn’t understand.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.  Guy goes, double or nothing.  And _this_ asshole,” jerking his thumb at Cas, “opens up his fucking wallet and throws down Ben fucking Franklin, right?  No pressure, Dean, right?  ‘No, Dean,’ he says,” doing a crappy imitation of his friend’s raspy voice, “‘No, Dean, it’s fine.  I know the rules now.  I won’t mess up again.’”

“I don’t sound like that.”

“And I’m like, fine, whatever, let’s do this.”  Dean covers his face with his hands and scrubs.  “Sammy, hand to fucking God, Cas breaks, and like, _four_ balls go in. I shit you not.”

“Oh no.”

“Yup.  ’Cause now they think we’re playing ’em.  They looked like they were gonna kill us, dude.” 

“No shit.  No wonder they-”

“Yup.  Cas wins, I still don’t know how-”

“It’s simple geometry, Dean,” he hiccupped.  “Plus a basic understanding of the physics of ball spin, the lay of the felt, and as long as I knew-”

“-oh my god, he’s a nerd,” Dean moaned.  Sam was not entirely sure if that was an exasperated tone or not.

“Did you not know that I’m an astrophysicist?  I think I can push a ball into a hole with a stick,” he retorted.  “Anyway, I won fair and square, and I was polite, too,” with emphasis.  “I said ‘Thank you’ when I took the money from the table.”

“Sam, he tried to shake the guy’s hand.  He was halfway through a ‘Good game’ when the guy grabbed his hand and twisted his wrist behind his back.”

“Ouch,” Sam winced.

Dean squeezed the bridge of his nose.  “They, uh, they march us outside, yeah?  The guy who’s got Cas, he pushes him down, his knees are all scraped to hell.”

“My hands, too.”

“Sonofabitch,” Dean muttered.  “I got loose and I ran to help him, but he’s already on his feet.  I tried to stand between him and them, but he pushes me out of the way.”  Dean paused, and Sam swore he could see his stupid brother smiling at Cas.  “You shoulda seen the murder in his eyes, Sammy.  You’da been so proud.”

Sam huffed a small chuckle.

“I thought he was gonna get his ass handed to him, but sonofabitch if he didn’t Karate Kid those assholes!”

“It’s not _karate_ , it’s _tae kwon do_.”

“Whatever it was,” Dean breathed, “it was fucking awesome.”

“Thank you, Dean,” equally overwhelmed.

They both fell silent for a time, and Sam half-worried that they might have passed out.  He hazarded a glance in the rearview mirror and smiled his bemusement: they were staring at each other, like really staring, the whole deep into their eyes thing people do in movies.  Like they’re trying to read the other’s soul.  Sam shook his head.  _Good for Dean,_ he thought.  _Poor guy deserves to be happy for once in his miserable life._ He let them be and turned instead to check the GPS.  Except…

“Hey Dean?”

“Yeah, Sammy?”  He wrenched his eyes to the driver.

“We’re going east.”

“Huh?  Oh, we did pass a sign for a Walmart in Grand Junction.  Guess that was the closest, huh?”

Sam growled and shook his head in frustration.  “I’m supposed to be driving again in how many hours?”

“Uh, four.  Ish.  Maybe three?”

“And I’m driving the wrong way instead of pulling in _anywhere_ going west?”

“You said find a Wally World.”

“Or something!  Jesus, Dean!”  There was a 24-hour CVS in the next block, and he stopped there.  He hopped out and almost pulled Dean off of Cas.  “Let me see.  Where are you hurt?”  Dean hovered, useless, asking to help.  Sam rolled his eyes.  “Get the first aid kit and a bottle of water.  And there’s a clean hand towel in my bag.  Get that, then go inside and get Cas something to drink.”

“Okay.  Cas, you hungry, bud?”

“No, I’m fine.  Wait.  Do they have peanuts?”

Dean laughed despite his nerves.  “Yeah, I’ll get you peanuts.  Sam?”

“No.  But keep your phone on you in case we need any medical supplies.”

As Dean trotted off and Sam busied himself with patching up Cas, Sam said, “You made quite an impression on him.”

“Did I?”

Sam nodded.  “He likes you.”

“Good.  I like him, too,” Cas replied, gazing off towards the store as if he could see Dean within.

“Good.  He’s got a tough life, and some would say it’s of his own making.  But he’s tougher.  And he can slog through the crap, but he won’t let anyone else slog through it with him.”

“Oh.”  Cas winced at the rough towel catching on his torn skin.  “Why are you telling me this?”

“I dunno, Cas.  You seem like a nice guy.  I don’t want either of you getting hurt, you know?”

“I think so.”  Cas considered a long moment.  “Do you mean I’ll hurt him or he’ll hurt me?”

“If history is any indication, he’ll hurt you in order to hurt himself.”

“Oh.”  When Sam remained silent, Cas asked, “Are you warning me or offering advice?”

“You want advice?  Pay attention to him.  He needs a _lot_ of attention.  Coddle him; he’s a big fucking baby.  But you have to make him talk.  We were raised- Well, raised is a little strong.  Wolves would have done a better job than our dad did.  At least we’d be socialized!”  Cas frowned; Sam continued.  “We weren’t taught to express our feelings, so you kinda have to take his outbursts with a grain of salt.  Maybe a whole bag.  Give me your hand.  No, the hurt one.”  Sam rolled the wrist gently between his hands.  “Bend your fingers?”

Cas tried.  “Ow!  Yes but no.”

“Okay.  I’m gonna ask Dean to pick you up a splint.  Just hold that still for another minute.”  He sent off a quick text.

“Sam?” He asked after a bit.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Is he happy?  In Kansas?”

Sam blew out a breath.  “You’d have to ask him.  He’ll never tell me if he’s _not_ , but I do know he’s lonely.  Doesn’t have many friends.  To be honest, the only thing I _know_ he does when I’m at school is work.  He’ll work every day if you let him.”

“And he likes his job?”

“Yeah, he does.  I mean, fixing up classic cars,” Sam volunteers, gesturing at the Impala, “it’s kinda his thing!”  Sam laughs.  “Before I came home for summer, he spent _three hours_ on the phone, telling me all about the Delorean he was building, pretty much from scratch-”

“It wasn’t a Delorean,” he called across the parking lot, catching wind of their conversation.  “It was a _Back to the Future_ car.”  He stopped behind Sam and handed him the bag with the splint.

Cas looked puzzled.  “The time machine in _Back to the Future was_ a Delorean.”

“Nah, see, my point is, we weren’t just building a Delorean.  The guys in Texas could have done that.  We built _the_ car.”  His face is the picture of pride.  “My buddy Benny got to do the time-and-date panel, but I made a working flux capacitor.”

“Working?”  Sam scoffed, accepting an orange juice from Dean.

He shrugged.  “Not _working_ working.  But it lights up, does the … thing,” making a motion with his fingers.  His eyes blazed.  “Cas, you’ve seen the movie, right?”  He cracked a Gatorade for Cas and a Coke for himself.

“All three of them.  Hundreds of times.”

Dean laughed.  “Right?  Anyway.  The Mr Fusion composter?  I built one.  It works, too- the car is technically a hybrid, run very partially on organic vegetable matter!”  He held his thumb and index finger close together and cackled, ridiculously pleased with himself.

Sam could almost not stomach the stars in Cas’ eyes.  He cleared his throat to get Cas to hold out his arm so he could finish bandaging him.  The dorks ate peanuts and gummy bears and jabbered on like a couple of lovestruck middle schoolers, and it made Sam grin.

“What?” Dean demanded.

“You two are so sweet, I think I’m gonna gag,” laughing when Dean punched him in the arm.

“Shut up, I’m entertaining the patient.”  He kicked gently at Cas’ foot.  “How you doing, by the way?”

“Fine, Dean.”

“I’m done here,” Sam stood and declared Cas healed, or close enough.  “What do you say we all crash for a few?”

 

 

**1021, Grand Junction (I-70) - Cedar City UT (I-15)**

Waking up in a parking lot made no one terribly happy.  “Rise and shine, guys,” Sam sang, adding an extra lilt of chipper, just to be obnoxious.

“Cas, get your head out of my lap,” Dean grumbled.

Pulling himself upright, Cas scowled at the sun, his whole face scrunched up tight.  “Why’s it so bright?”

“Because it’s morning, and you two are idiots.  And we have to get this show on the road if we’re ever going to get to school.”

Cas made a noise in his throat.

“Personally, I’m exhausted,” Sam added.

“Wouldn’t know it.”

“I’d ask you to drive first, Dean, but I swear you’re still drunk.”

“No’m not.”

“And Cas, I-”

“I don’t know how.”

“Who says I’d let you anyway?” Dean asked and nudged Cas with a sharp elbow.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.”

“So I’m driving,” Sam continued, as if he hadn’t been uninterrupted.   “Sit up and get your seat belts on.”

“No need to get all high and mighty, dude.  It was your turn to drive anyway,” Dean mumbled to Cas, though Sam heard every syllable. 

He offered Cas the front seat, provided he agreed to stash the CDs.

 

***

 

Noon came and went with Sam still at the wheel.  He figured he could make it ’til two or three, at least as far as the next blip on the map.  A short nap helped Cas shake off the night before, and he crawled out from under his coat to keep Sam company for most of the early shift. 

“I’m a little hungry, though,” Cas remarked, shoving the coat over his shoulder into the back.

Sam passed him the box of pastries he’d picked up at his first refueling stop.  By the time he’d made it back to the car, the hangover twins had passed out again.  No breakfast for them.  “He’ll want the bear claw, but the others are fair game.”

“Which one do you want?”

“Either.”  Cas hesitated until Sam sighed and muttered, “Cake doughnut, please.”

Cas wrapped the doughnut in a napkin and handed it over to Sam.  He ate one apple fritter without speaking, staring out the window as he chewed.  He reached for the other fritter, thought better of it.  Instead, he took it and tore it in half, his bandaged hand making him clumsy.  The smaller chunk disappeared in three methodical bites; the larger piece he left in the box for Dean.  The highway being relatively empty, Cas popped out of his seatbelt momentarily.

“What do you think you’re doing?”  Sam asked Cas’ ass.

“Just removing temptation,” he replied, wedging the box atop and between two of the bags, where Dean would see it when he awoke but not accidentally squash it. 

“Get back in your seat,” Sam said, adding with a laugh, “and stop staring at my brother!”

“Are you jealous?”  Awkward though it was, it was as close to a flirtation as Cas had ever attempted (in Sam’s hearing), and Sam couldn’t help returning his smirk.

“No.  But you’ll give him ideas.”

Cas fell silent, so Sam turned the topic.  He felt like he’d been doing that a lot lately.

“So this place out at school, you said it’s not your parent’s place?”

“Fortunately no,” and Cas gave him the short, short version of the blow-up with his folks.  “I’ve been staying with my sister Anna and her family this past week, but the situation in California is unchanged.  It’s my brother Gabe’s house exclusively.”

“Oh yeah, I know him.  He was my RA freshman year.”

“Yes, as I recall, he was not well suited to the position.”

“As _I_ recall, he was found in a compromising position.”

Cas nodded serenely.  “As a pre-law student, he should have known better.  He assured me that all of the participants were of age.  The pledge that caught them, though…”

Sam cleared his throat.  Just another casual change of subject.  “And we’re staying with him?  I thought I’d heard that he graduated early or something.”

“He did.  He has the devil’s own luck, our grandmother used to say.  He passed the bar and moved up to Sacramento.  He’s working with our brother Luci.”

Sam almost gasped.  “Wait.  Luci?  As in, Lucifer Kripke?  As in, the attorney general is your _brother_?”

“Yes, he’s the reason Gabe took an interest in the law in the first place.”

Sam whistled.  “Wow.”

“We don’t get along very well.  I never seem to understand his humor.  But maybe that’s because it’s usually directed at me.”  He mumbled the last bit.  “But I’d be happy to introduce you if we ever get the opportunity.  I’m sure you’d find it very helpful if the state AG was willing to take you under his wing.”

“No kidding.  I’ve got chills just thinking about it.”  They drove some minutes in silence.  At length, Sam picked up the thread again.  “But why didn’t Gabe sell the house before he moved to Sactown?”

“He bought the house outright, a few years ago.  Not long after the incident we mentioned,” he added with a meaningful look.  “He says that in today’s market, it doesn’t make sense to sell when he’s still got to see me through another year of college, plus grad school.”

“Wow, a house that close to campus must have cost a good chunk of change.”

“Yes, I believe it did.  The money came from a side project he headed during college.  Apparently it was quite lucrative.”

“Do I want to know?”

“It wasn’t drugs,” Cas assured him with undue seriousness.  “He produced a series of independent films.  Maybe you’ve heard of them?”

“Um.  What films were those, Cas?”

“ _Casa Erotica._ ”

Sam almost shouted.  “The _porn_?”

“What porn?  It’s not mine,” a bleary voice called from the backseat.

“Sure, _that_ woke him up,” Sam said.  “Good morning, Dean.” 

“ _Casa Erotica,_ ” Cas repeated, trying to be helpful.  Sam wanted to crawl into the cushions.

“Oh yeah, whatsisname.  Gabriel Archangel.”  He leered, nodding.  “Yeah, he’s _good_.  Huge fucking co-”

“That’s Cas’ brother,” Sam blurted.

“-ck.  What?  No.”

“Yup.”  Sam’s chest burned from holding in the laughter.  Worth the price of admission right there!

“Motherfucker!  Goddamn it all to hell, son of a fucking bitch!  Dude!”  He must have been looking for the blanket he always kept on the floorboard in the back, but instead he draped himself in Cas’ giant trench.  “What the shit, dude, I’m an idiot!  I’m so sorry!  I’m just.  I’m just gonna suffocate myself right here, Jesus Christ on a crutch!”

“Please don’t kill yourself with my coat.”

“Your coat?”  He pulled the fabric away from his face. 

Sam caught his look of abject horror in the rearview and cackled.  “Dude no!”

“Dude yes.  Sorry, Cas, I was aiming for the blanket, not your-”  He made a noise of frustration before he completely gave up and let the coat flop back down over his face.

“Dean?” Cas asked.

“Dean’s not here, man.”

“That’s not true, Dean.”

“I know, Cas,” he agreed, sounding defeated but a little amused, too.  He kept the coat over his face, his voice muffled by the gabardine.  “I’m fine.”

A small pause as he parsed the words.  “Are you really?”

“Yeah, no, I just complimented your brother’s dick, but yeah, totally good.”  He was silent a moment, then in a small voice, he added, “Your coat smells really nice, Cas.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

Sam begged whatever gods were up there that they could finally drop this subject.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

Very seriously, without a hint of innuendo, Cas said, “You’re welcome to be inside my clothes anytime you want.”

Sam lost his shit.  He could almost hear Dean clench up his jaw before uttering a desperately sarcastic, “Thanks, Cas.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.”

With Sam fighting to control his laughter, Dean sat up, spoiling for a fight.  “Okay, whatever, dude.  I’m over this already.  What the fucking fuck is this shit on the radio?”

Cas sounded a little hurt answering, “Sarah McLachlan.”

“Yeah?”  Dean struggled to keep an angry note in his voice, but it was clear his heart wasn’t in it.  He sighed.  “Do you have the angel song?  Put that one on.  It’s nice.”  He glared at Sam, still cracking his ass up in the front seat.  “Fuck you, fucker,” he added without much venom, “you’re the reason I even know these chick songs, you sonofabitch.  Now find us a goddamn burger joint; I’m starving.”

Sam shook his head, amused and unfazed.  “Sure thing.  Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

Cas looked from one to the other, more than a little bewildered.  “Are the insults customary?”

Dean chuckled and any tension left in the car melted.  “Don’t worry about it, buddy.  It’s just what we do.”

“Oh.”  He hesitated a moment, thinking, then turned his body in his seat so he could face Dean more fully.  “If you’re hungry, there are leftovers from breakfast in the box there.  Assbutt.”

Sam had to pull the car over.

 

 

**_1444, I-15, Cedar City, UT_ **

After their lunch break in Cedar City, Dean hauled the atlas out so they could assess their progress.  “So it’s Tuesday, right?”

“It’s still Tuesday?”  Sam groaned.

“It has been a very long day,” Cas agreed.

“If we take 56 west,” indicating the route on the map, “we’ll be in Stanford by dawn.  But,” he said, tracing a different path, “if we continue south on 15-”

“Las Vegas.”  Sam looked dubious.

Dean smiled broadly, one eyebrow quirked up puckishly. 

“I’ve never been to Vegas,” said Cas.  “I would be happy to stop for a night or two, if the schedule permits.  I can pay; I’ve got money.”

Sam turned to his brother.  “We need to be at the house by Sunday afternoon at the latest; my first class starts early.”

“That gives us all day Friday to get to Stanford before the weekend.  And all day Saturday if something goes wrong.”

“And if we break down and get stranded ’til Monday?”

“Then you and Cas can get out and push,” he grinned.  “Sound good, Cas?  You up for a little Vegas vacation?”

“I trust you, Dean.”

“You see, Sammy?  Cas trusts me.”

 

 

**_1651, Las Vegas, NV_ **

Cas was at first disappointed by the Strip.  They rolled into town under afternoon sunlight; he had expected neon and instead saw only a pallid tacky tourist town in various shades of brown and glaring white.  He asked Sam to pull in at the Luxor.  Though monochromatic, it was at least distinctive at any time of day.  It felt right.  It felt lucky.

Sam had to go in alone to register.  Cas was uncomfortable with doing it himself, citing poor social skills and a general unease in front of strangers.  Dean refused to let Sam surrender the keys to “some kid with a vest and no appreciation for the turning radius of a car built before his parents were born.”  Sam took the responsibility without complaint, except to snipe at his brother for babying his dumb car.  He came back with room keys for a double and a single, as well as directions to several of the nearest self-parking garages.  By the time they’d parked, they opted to pursue dinner instead of carting their gear to their rooms. 

If they picked up a few free drinks in every casino between Luxor and the MGM Grand, so much the better.  Sam occupied himself with roulette and craps, both of which he claimed to be actually winnable, given the right knowledge of odds, etc (which he clearly did not possess).  Meanwhile, Cas and Dean sat down to blackjack at Luxor and accidentally counted cards: between Dean’s intimate understanding of the game and Cas’ penchant for numbers, neither could lose.  Not long after their first round arrived, but before a particularly bad spin wiped Sam out, a management type stepped in to comp their rooms and otherwise tempt them away from the gaming floor.  Their preternatural luck held at both Mandalay Bay and New York New York, where they were gifted restaurant vouchers in unspoken exchange for removing themselves from the casino, and at the MGM Grand, where they earned themselves Cirque tickets.

They sped through a considerably more casual dinner than they had intended in order to make the _KA_ show.  Their efforts were more than rewarded.  Cas in particular was transfixed by the artistry, both the music and the movement.  Dean preferred the physicality, the sheer athleticism of the performers, not to mention the engineering behind the ridiculously complicated moving platforms.  For Sam, however, this was not his first Cirque du Soleil experience: he had been fortunate enough to see a traveling show the year before with his girlfriend’s family.  This time at least, he seemed to derive the most pleasure from observing his brother and friend.  Cas caught his eye a couple of times by accident, and they both found their gaze wandering from the stage to Dean’s awestruck expression.

All the way back to the car to collect their bags, all the way back through the hotel, Sam smiled in silent amusement as Dean and Cas relived their favorite parts.

 

 

**Wednesday, September 21**

**_2354, Luxor_ **

At the door of the double, Sam turned to Cas and pressed the key into his hand. "Here, this is yours."

Dean blinked. "Okay." He sounded confused.

Sam gave them a mischievous smile. "I wasn’t entirely honest with you.  I changed the second room to a single in a very different part of the hotel. In case you want some privacy," he added.

"Want some-?"

"Night, Dean. Night, Cas!" And he tossed a flippant wave as he turned and walked back towards the elevator.

Dean stared after him, then slowly faced Cas. "What the hell was that?"

He couldn't quite look Dean in the eye, but he said, "I suspect he thinks we, um, want to be alone. Together."

"Did you know about this?" His tone was aggressive, but not necessarily angry.

"No!" Cas protested, meeting Dean's gaze.

"Huh. Scheming sonofabitch," Dean chuckled. He tried to affect a careless smile. "Well, whaddya say? Get some shut-eye?"

"Okay, Dean."

He unlocked the door and held it open to let Dean pass through first. "It's bigger than I thought it would be," he muttered, not sure what to say in this situation. Alone in a hotel room with another man by the machinations of his future roommate _slash_ the man's younger brother: it was an entirely new experience and Cas was at a loss. He dropped his bag on the floor and followed Dean, who was exclaiming over the bathroom.

"Check out that shower!"

"It does look spacious."

"I bet the water pressure is awesome," he enthused, his eyes glazed over.

Cas nodded and wandered to the severely slanted windows. "The view is ... nice," he called.

"Yeah?"

"I wouldn't call it beautiful, but it is very interesting. Busy. You can see the lights of the strip."

Dean came and stood behind him.

A hesitant hand alighted on Cas' shoulder, and he sighed. "Dean. I should tell you..." But he couldn't find the words.

"What's going on, Cas?"

He sighed again, turned away from the glass. "I like you, Dean."

"I like you, too, Cas." He smiled. He looked shy, maybe embarrassed.

"But, uh. I- I don't have sex."

"Huh. Like, ever?"

"No."

"Huh.”  He nodded.  “Well, that's, uh."

"A deal breaker?"

"Not exactly," Dean replied, rubbing his neck. "Tell you the truth, I'm kinda, well, I'm not too sure about, um."

"You've never had sex with a man."

He let out a long breath. "That obvious, huh?"

Cas shrugged.

“Never even gotten this far before,” he admitted.  After a pause he added, "I do like you."

"Will you sleep with me?"

"Um. Yeah okay."

A few minutes later, Dean came out of the bathroom in a long-sleeved shirt and pajama bottoms and stopped short, likely surprised by the sight of Cas in boxers. "Oh."

"Is this acceptable?"

"Yeah, no, fine.  You took the splint off?"

Cas looked down at the bruise on his right wrist, already fading to a muddy green.  “Yes.  It’s just sore to the touch.”  He poked it experimentally.  “Immobilizing it won’t do it any good at this point.”

“Ah.” Dean floundered a moment before gesturing towards the bathroom. "Uh, it's all yours."

When Cas came out, he found Dean sitting at the foot of the bed, room dark except for the bedside lamp. He'd shed the pajama pants but still wore the shirt over his boxers. "Heya."

"Hello." He walked past him, closed the curtains, turned down the other bed. Coming back, he asked, "Ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

Cas held out one hand, and Dean took it. "Which side do you prefer?" he asked, pulling Dean to his feet.

"Um. I don't care."

He deposited Dean on the right and moved to the side nearest the window. He burrowed right under the covers and made himself comfortable. Dean clicked off the bedside lamp before lying back on his pillow, staring up at the ceiling with his arms crossed.

Cas held out his arms in the dark and invited Dean to scoot closer. He slipped one hand under his neck and pulled him tight. "Your shoulders are very stiff."

"Sorry. Just nervous, I guess."

Cas hummed and rubbed his upper arm with his free hand. "You're safe, Dean. I'll watch over you."

"Hmm. Thanks, Cas." When his muscles relaxed and his rapid breathing slowed to soft snores, Cas pressed his lips against his scruffy hair and followed him to sleep.

 

***

 

At some point in the night, Cas shifted. He nestled his back firmly to Dean's chest and could feel him half-hard against his ass. Cas nuzzled backwards and laughed sleepily when his friend gasped. "Are you alright, Dean?" Cas whispered, his hand finding Dean's hip, soothing him with soft strokes of his thumb.

Dean hid his face against Cas' hair. "I'm perfect.”

 

***

 

They awoke to bright sun peeking around the curtains, Cas curled tightly around Dean's right arm and Dean's left draped carelessly across Cas’ belly.  "What time is it?" Cas asked.

"Quarter past nine.  Sam's probably wondering what became of us."

"He probably thinks he knows exactly what became of us."

"Great.  I'm gonna take a shower before we find some breakfast, okay?"

"Okay," he said, leaning into the silent kiss Dean dropped on his crown. "Thanks."

"For what?"  Dean pretended not to know; Cas declined to answer.  He watched Dean rummage through his bag on the other bed and disappear into the bathroom.

As the shower water ran, Cas let his hand crept under his waistband. He thought about Dean, thought about the things they'd do. If only little Castiel and big Castiel could see eye to eye on the sex thing. He didn't mind, really. This felt better than anything he'd get from another person. This he could control. This was all he needed or wanted.  Even if he couldn't imagine ever sleeping beside another person but Dean for the rest of his life.

Interesting thought.  He wouldn't have expected to feel so strongly so soon, but he had to admit it was true. He wondered if maybe he loved Dean.

Hearing a muffled grunt from the shower, Cas let himself come.

He must have dozed off.  When he opened his eyes, the shower had fallen silent and the room full of humid coconut-scented warmth, and Dean was very studiously examining the contents of his bag. He tossed something to Cas, barely peeking over his shoulder. "Here."

Cas snatched up the blue washcloth without really comprehending, until he noticed that his hand felt tacky where it rested on his stomach. Oh. "I'm sorry, I should have-"

"It's fine." Dean cleared his throat. "So that you'll do, but not the other stuff."

"Um. It's different by myself. I'm not damaged or broken; it's just, it's just my preference.  Not even preference."

"Ah." Dean didn't pursue the subject further; Cas was grateful.

But in the elevator on the way to breakfast, Dean let slip a secret: "For half a second, half a half a second," he confessed, "I thought about what it would be like to lick you clean."

Cas looked at him with wide eyes, admired the pinkness of his cheeks and the shy way he gazed at his hands as he spoke. He glanced away again and focused instead on his own hands. "It's better you didn't, you know. It gets gummy very quickly as it cools. It's only enjoyable when it goes right in your mouth."

Dean stared at the side of Cas’ head until Cas felt his eyes on him and turned. "You- You've-"

"Given oral? Yes. And more, too." When Dean continued to gawk, Cas replied, "I didn't always know I was asexual, Dean. It took me a long time to figure it out."

 

 

**_1003, MORE, Luxor_ **

“He’s there already, saving us a spot in the line for the buffet downstairs,” Dean reported, checking his phone.  But when they arrived, they found that Sammy was not alone.  “Jess?”

“Hey Dean,” she smiled, giving him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek.  “And this is Cas, right?  Nice to meet you!  I’m Jess, Sam’s girlfriend.”

“Nice to meet you.  I’ve seen you around campus.”

Sam looked embarrassed but pleased.  “So.  Breakfast.”

Dean slowly came around.  “What are you doing here?” he asked, too brusquely.  _Strike one._

“Oh.  Sam let me know you were here, and it was worth the drive from Cali to see him a little early,” she laughed, wrapping herself around Sam’s arm and smiling up at him.  He smiled back like she was the only person in the room, hell, in the building, maybe the state.

Somehow they paid and got their plates and they were all seated around a table that felt way too cramped for three bigger-than-average dudes, let alone a fourth person.  Dean scooted his chair away from Jess, closer to Cas, but he still felt crowded.  Uncomfortably hot.  He reached for his water glass and inadvertently knocked over Jess’ Coke.  “Sorry!  Sorry,” he mumbled, as everyone reached for napkins.  He ran to refill her glass rather than listen to her easy “No, no, it was an accident, Dean, no problem!”  _Strike two._

The mess was not much improved by the time he returned.  Sam suggested moving to a new table.  “A bigger one just opened up.”  So the four of them gathered up their worldly possessions and dripped away to another table.  Dean tried not to scowl.  He wanted to be friendly; he wanted to be cheerful.  He should be glad to see Sam so obnoxiously happy, absolutely entranced by the pretty blonde girl on his left.  And he liked Jess, really he did.  She was bubbly and energetic and generous to a fault, and she liked puppies at least as much as Sam did, the big softies.  But Dean felt raw; just looking at her was making his skin crawl for some reason.

He tuned back in to the conversation in time to hear Jess comment, “I still can’t believe that glass didn’t break, Sam!  We should try to find this style when we get our apartment next year.”

“What do you mean, apartment?”  Dean blurted.  He shook his head, wondering.  “Sam’s graduating at the end of this year.”   He saw Sam shoot Jess a look, which only increased his confusion.

She shook off the sign and lobbed it across the plate anyway.  “Sam and I are applying to the law program this fall,” she burbled.  “Assuming we both get in, we’re going to get a place together and then we can talk about getting engaged!”

Dean stared.  He was speechless.  Slowly he stood.  Threw a couple of bucks on the table for the bussers.  “I’m out,” he muttered, before turning and walking out of the restaurant.  He thought maybe Cas followed him, but he didn’t turn to look.  He walked away. 

By the time he came back to himself and looked around, he was standing outside Caesar’s Palace.  “Sonofabitch,” he muttered.  His shirt was soaked; he was sweating through his outer flannel, too.  “Ugh, what the hell.  Why’s it so hot?”  He trudged into the icebox that was the lobby and made for the bathrooms.  He stripped off the outer shirt and splashed cold water on his flushed face.  Pressing a wet washcloth to the back of his neck, he texted Sam:

_::Sorry for walking out- Caesars lobby- heading back soon. ::_

He was breathing easier and only stopped to take a leak before braving the heat and the long walk back to the pyramid.  As he was washing his hands, a text from Cas came in:

 _::I’m here now. Where are you?_ ::

He didn’t bother to respond, just walked out.  Where?  There must have been an acre of marble.  _Jesus Christ,_ he thought distractedly, _why does everything in Vegas have to be so fucking huge?_ He tried to stand still and scan every face until he found Cas, or until Cas found him.  He managed, for a minute, then he gave up and slumped against the wall, all the way to the ground.

_::By the mens room- im the guy on the floor::_

Cas strolled around the statue in the middle of the lobby, his phone in front of him like a dowsing rod.  He moved quickly to Dean’s side and crouched down to eye level.

“You look like shit, Dean.”

“Thanks, Cas.  Don’t touch me,” he flinched away.  “I’m gross.”

“What happened?”

He rubbed his palms over his face.  “I dunno, Cas.  One minute, I was walking through the food court and the next thing I knew, I was here.”  Cas squinted, like that wasn’t the answer he was expecting.  Dean crossed his arms.  “He’s leaving.  He’s leaving me, Cas, and he couldn’t tell me.  Because I’m a mess, and he doesn’t know the half of it, and he still-” He waved his hands helplessly.

Cas caught hold of his wrist then, and peered at Dean’s forearm. 

“Oh.  That,” Dean mumbled.  He fingered the thick pink scar running from his wrist to his elbow, and held out the matching one on his left arm.  “These cost me a month in a psych ward.  You can’t ever tell Sammy, though; I told him it was an accident in the salvage yard.”  Cas frowned, his baby blue puppy-dog eyes boring into Dean’s soul.  “I don’t know if I was actually trying to kill myself; I really don’t remember.  But apparently I called Benny at some point, because he broke into my apartment and found me before I-  He said I was drunker than he’d ever seen me, and that’s saying something.”  He chuckled, a dark, sad sound.  Cas stayed silent.  Dean really didn’t want to talk about this, but there was Cas, just _listening_ , and Dean couldn’t shut up.  “They say suicide runs in families, you know?  Well, after my dad- After Dad, I got rid of the guns, even the hidden ones, the ones he didn’t think I knew about.   It’s just too easy with a gun around.”  He sighed; talking was an effort and still he couldn’t shut up.  “I thought about it a lot, how it would be so fucking easy to just end it, and I- I couldn’t.  I chucked them all.  I couldn’t make Sammy go through that again.  But well,” he gestured at his left arm, “fat lot of good it did.  Where there’s a will, I guess.”

“Yes.”  It was the first thing Cas had said in a while, and it shook Dean out of his trance.

“Anyways.  I learned a lot about myself during my time-out in the hospital.”

“Like what?”

“Mostly that I’m an asshole.”  Cas frowned at that.  “That not everything is my fault, not my responsibility.  Still working on believing that one,” he winked.  “Also that my particular brand of anxiety and depression doesn’t respond well to pharmaceuticals.” 

“What have they tried?”

“That you’ve heard of?” 

Cas raised an eyebrow.  “Try me.”  Dean looked puzzled, and Cas shook his head.  “Long story.” 

Dean nodded, willing to let it slide.  For now.  “Prozac, mostly.” 

“Yes, they put me on that a few months ago.” 

“I’ve been on a few different SSRIs.  A few MAOIs.  It’s all pretty much the same.  It works for a while and then things suck again.” 

Cas is quiet for a few minutes. 

“What?” 

“What if it’s not the drugs?” 

“Um.”  Dean rolls his eyes toward the ceiling and pouts.  “You mean, what if I’ll just always be miserable, no matter-” 

“No, Dean.  Maybe there’s more to not being miserable than hoping that you can fix your life with medication.” 

“I’m not sure if that’s brilliant or stupid.”  He paused.  “But you know what?  I believe you.”  He thumped the steel toes of his work boots for a moment, before asking, “So what’s your deal?  You suicidally depressed, too?”

“No, nothing like that.  I just,” he sighed, “I believe I might be autistic.”

“Autistic?  What, like the kids with the helmets?”

Cas glared.  “Perhaps, but no.  My sister Anna’s daughter was recently diagnosed with Asperger’s and it made me wonder.  I had so many similar ‘symptoms,’ if you will, when I was growing up.  I still do, sometimes, when I’m not paying attention.  I see a therapist for anxiety-”

“Hence the Prozac.”

Cas nodded.  “And in combination with my feelings on sex, I thought I had found a unified theory to explain everything that was … unique about me.  I asked Dr. Fuller if it was possible, and he- He was not quite helpful.”

“No?”

“No.  He says that they don’t test adults for developmental disorders.  He says that if I made it into a prestigious university, there was no reason to stigmatize myself.”  Dean nodded, not so much agreeing with the doctor as understanding the logic.  “But then, he is not particularly enthusiastic about my use of the word ‘asexual.’  He says I have a sexual dysfunction and wants to send me to a clinic for extensive bloodwork.”  He shuddered. “And of course, everything is changing.  With autism, I mean.  They’re diagnosing more girls now.”

“Obviously.  Your niece.”

“Yes.”

Dean shrugged.  “If it’s important to you to know, then find a new doctor.”

Cas looked horrified.  He shook his head. 

“Hey, I get it; don’t let me tell you what to do,” Dean laughed.  “I’m the guy who drives two hours round-trip twice a week to see Dr Palmer at the hospital, because I can’t be fucked to explain my crazy to a new stranger.”

Cas gave a quiet chuckle.  “Yes, that’s it exactly.”  He lifted his eyes to find Dean’s.  The corners crinkled slightly as Cas smiled back.  “I’m hungry.”

“Me too.”  Dean pushed off the ground and held out a hand to Cas.  “Come on, Crazy Town, let’s find some food in this shithole.”

 

 

**_1203, Caesar’s Palace_ **

Rather than wait twenty-five minutes to be seated, Dean led Cas to the bar and pulled out a stool for him.

“I don’t want to overindulge, Dean.”  Cas eyed him suspiciously.  “And after your, um, event, you definitely should not.”

“They’ll serve us here, same as any other table, and it’ll be faster.”

An hour later, Dean received his Jack and Coke and barely had enough time to ask for a menu before the bartender was gone again.

“Great,” he muttered.  “Only took- oh shit, is that the time?”

Cas looked around then to find the bar full, every seat in the restaurant occupied.  The clock over the bar (“It’s 5:00 somewhere”) read a quarter past one.

“Time flies when you’re having fun, huh,” Dean intoned.

“Fun?”  He reached forward and swiped a tear from Dean’s cheek.

“Yeah well, not fun.  Figure of speech.  Don’t ever tell anyone I told you this, but I guess it feels good to have someone to talk to.”

Cas smiled gently.  “Someone who understands.”

“Won’t judge.”

“Yes.”  He paused a moment, lost in glassy green eyes.  “I either need to keep you or find a new therapist.”

Dean didn’t know what to say, just hummed a small laugh.  “Can’t say I’d be much good for that.  I’m a mess.”  He gestured at his red, swollen eyes.  “Obviously.”

Cas took his hand in his good one, and Dean only jumped a little.  “In the short time I have known you, I have trusted you with my doubts, my … fears.  With secrets I have hardly trusted myself to believe.  Things that my therapist, who has known me for years, has disregarded as unreasonable.  You, though.  You didn’t tell me I was mistaken.  Nor wrong.  You believed me.”

Dean shook his head.  “I dunno, man.  I got enough shit going on that I just- I get it.  I hear you, or anyone really, talking about their problems, their issues, what have you, and I know it’s not my place to doubt you.  Dude, I carry so much shit around, that I didn’t even know I did until,” he held out one arm.  “Hell, my baggage has baggage; who the hell am I to judge?”

Cas could feel his heart swelling.  His face felt like it might split from smiling. 

“What?”

He marveled at Dean.  “That’s what I love about-”  He stopped, let his brain catch up to his mouth.  _Oh no._ He dropped his eyes to the bar, flustered.  Another slow breath and he made a decision.  Squaring his shoulders, he demanded that Dean look him in the eye.  “That’s what I love about you.”

Dean couldn’t say anything for a long moment.  He couldn’t look at Cas, either.  Nervously licking his lips, he swiveled in his chair and stared down at the bartop.  “You shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because no one ever has.” 

“No.”  He squinted at Dean, cocked his head to the left.  People sometimes told him he looked like a bird when he did that.  “You don’t think you deserve to be loved.”

Dean rolled his eyes.  “I’m not boyfriend material, you know.”  He drained his drink, as if to prove the point.

“Nor am I.  I can give you a very long list of references if you-”

“Cas,” he whined.

“Dean.”  He pulled Dean’s hand into his own and petted his knuckles. 

Sighing heavily, Dean explained.  “When I first got to the hospital, they asked me about my last long-term relationship.  I go, ‘Define long-term.’  The lady says, ‘Two months.’” He pulls a face, sad but mostly disappointed.  “I just shook my head, told her I never had.”

Cas nodded.  “We have both accidentally confessed our love on separate occasions.  And one of us has said it deliberately.   This is significant, Dean.”

He closed his eyes.  He was hungry, buzzed, still strung out from the morning’s panic attack, and the very attractive dude holding his hand wanted to love him.  His defenses were so low he could cry.  Hell, he’d already cried in front of Cas once today.  He really didn’t feel like fighting a battle he wanted to lose anyway.  He let out a long breath.  “Yeah okay,” he whispered.  His eyes flickered open and he hummed.  “You know, I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve accidentally said ‘I love you’ to.  And exactly one person has ever said it to me on accident.”  He turned his head and let himself look at Cas, let his eyes rake his pretty face, his wild hair, his bright, hopeful eyes.  He followed the lines of his neck, his throat, his shoulders, down his arm to the hand holding his own.  He had nice hands, large and soft and long-fingered.  Dean pressed his own thick, calloused hand around Cas’ and looked up into his face.  “Cas.” He smiled shyly.  “I love you.”

Cas smiled and it was like the sun coming out.  

The two of them sat there gently glowing for a long moment.  

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“Can I kiss you?”  Just saying the words made his stomach squirm happily.

He grinned.  “Yes, Dean.”

“Here you go, kiddos.”  The bartender was back and dropping a couple of menus on the bar top.  “What are you fellas drinking?”

Dean pulled back from Cas too fast and his head swam for a second.  “Whoa.  Uh, Landshark for me; he wants something pink.”

“Dean, no!”

“Yup!  Payback’s a bitch.”

“Something pink?”  She clearly did not intend to cater to anyone’s bullshit.  “Last Mango in Paris okay?”

“Sure,” Dean laughed.  “And before you run away again, uh,” he checked her name tag, “Ellen.”

“Yeah?”

He opened the menu to the center and quickly found what he expected.  “We’re gonna want two cheeseburgers.”

“In Paradise?”

“Yeah.  Add onions.”

“No onions on mine.”

“And fries.  Please.”

“That it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”  He smiled charmingly.

She tried to frown, but Dean had clearly won her over.  “Alright boys, I’ll have that out to you in a jif.  You behave at my bar now, y’hear?”

Dean gave her his best innocent grin as she walked off.  He turned it on Cas next and saw it reflected back tenfold.  It scared him how easy it was to sit and stare at Cas for minutes at a time, with nothing to say and no hope of looking away.  “Where were we?” he asked.

“I think we’re meant to behave.”

“That doesn’t sound like much fun.”  The lady delivered their drinks just then.  Both guys had to taste Cas’.  “Peachy,” Dean remarked.

“I believe that’s mango.”

“Ah.”

“What’s in Kansas?”

Dean turned to stare at Cas, a swipe of pink still dampening his lip.  He licked it away before asking, “Come again?”

“Your brother is in California.”  Cas looked serious.  “So why are you still in Kansas?  What keeps you there?”

His smile fell away all at once.  “Um.  I dunno.”  He took a pull of his beer.  A longer pull.  He shook his head.  “I don’t know.”

Ellen slid a plate of fries in front of them.  “Be a few minutes on the burgers, boys.”  Looking at Dean, she frowned.  “You okay, kiddo?”

“Me?  I’m fine.”

She tried to stare him down.  “Sure about that?”

He brought his chin up and met her eyes.  “Fine.”

She gave a half-smile and threw her hands up in surrender.  She dug out a small tumbler and reached over her head for a bottle.  “‘Fine.’  I get it.  I can’t fix what ain’t broken, but a finger or two of this’ll take some of the pucker off that puss.”  She slid it to Dean.  “On me, hon.”  She winked at Cas with a cryptic nod towards Dean.

Cas looked confused, but he nodded solemnly all the same.

When she moved off, Dean picked up the glass, sniffed at it.  “Must be a single-malt if she had it on the top shelf.”  He shot the liquid into his mouth and rolled it around for a moment before swallowing.  “Can we talk about something else, Cas?”

“Anything you wish, Dean.”

“I don’t care.”  He turned towards Cas.  “Hey.  After this, you wanna head back to the hotel and check out the pool?”

“We can do that, Dean.”

He nodded.  “Good.  Yeah.”  He dumped some ketchup out onto the plate and shoved a few fries into the puddle.  “Okay, I got one: DC or Marvel?”

 

 

**_1422, Luxor pool_ **

As they lounged at the side of the pool, Cas standing in the shallows, Dean leaning against the wall with his legs floating out in front of him, they talked.  Mostly, their talk drifted lazily from one subject to another, from movies Dean had never seen (“No living human has not seen _It’s a Wonderful Life_ at least once, Dean”) to books Cas had never read (“Listen: Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time.”  “I don’t understand how that works.”) to hobbies they could never hope to share (cars, bees), and a few they did (weird-ass music).  Some of their conversation tended towards the weightier matters that will come up at the beginning of a relationship between two tortured souls. 

It was in the midst of one of these (the List of Sexual Encounters) that Dean saw Sam coming their way.  “Perfect timing, as always,” he muttered to Cas.  To Sam, he called out, “Knock knock.”

Sam made a face.  “Knock knock?”

“It’s a joke, play along.” 

“Okay, uh, who’s there?”  Jess smiled.

Dean smiled back at her before returning his attention to his brother.  “Interrupting moose.”

“Interrupting m-”

“Mooooose.”

The reactions to his horrible joke were better than Dean could have hoped for, and it made his heart light.  Sam frowned.  Jess doubled over with laughter.  Cas looked puzzled and remarked, “That’s not what moose say.” 

Dean grinned.  “You got it, Cas,” he replied, popping a dry kiss on Cas’ damp cheek.  He pulled himself onto dry land and stood.  Turning, he draped himself over his brother. 

“Dean, you’re getting me all wet,” Sam fussed.

“Oh sorry, I didn’t realize.”  He went to hug Jess next.  He whispered, “This is all your boyfriend’s fault,” before he snatched her up like a sack of potatoes and chucked her into the pool.

“Dean!” Sam shouted.

When she surfaced, she screamed, too.  “You skinny sonofabitch,” she yelled, then she pushed a tidal wave of water his direction.  Cas was swamped; Sam was soaked.

And Dean?  Dean hid behind his sasquatch of a brother and barely felt a drop.  He held his hand out and gazed up into the sky.  “Gee, is it raining?  I thought I felt a few raindrops!”  He had enough time to laugh at his own hilariousness before Sam scooped him up and deposited him in the pool alongside Cas.

“I fail to see why I am being punished for Dean’s bad behavior,” Cas grumbled as he got thoroughly drenched _again_.  Jess jumped on his back and dragged him away by his shoulders, just as Sam jumped in and attacked Dean. 

Sam was the first to notice Cas’ discomfort at the mauling, and he called Jess away. 

Dean moved towards Cas.  “You okay, bud?”

He nodded.  “Yes, I’m fine, just felt a bit crowded was all.” 

“I get it.  The two of them, they’re puppy dogs.  One, a very _big_ puppy dog.”  Cas smiled.  “All bark, no bite.”  

Cas nodded again.  “Yes, I understand.  I’ll get used to her, I’m sure.”

With his arm slung over Cas’ shoulder, Dean turned his face towards the far end of the pool, at the lovebirds who were very clearly conspiring against them.  “Now, Jess is the least of your worries.  She’s a prankster, no doubt, smart as the day is long, but she’s small.  If she starts giving you a problem, you just start hiding her stuff up high where she can’t find it.”  He laughed.  “Last time I drove Sam to school, she was moving in down the hall.  She tried to start shit with me, and uh, well, I’m not gonna tell you what, because, um.”

“You’re embarrassed.”

“I told you, she’s smart.  Anyway.  She and Sam went on a Walmart run and left me there to put together their shit from IKEA, right?”  He could barely get the words out, he was laughing so hard.  “I take her key and I go into her room, and I don’t even know how I did it, I took all the shit off her bed and I taped it to the ceiling.”

Cas frowned.  “Why?”

“Why?  Because she, uh,” he paused, blinked.  “Actually, I’m not sure why.  It was a prank war.  _She_ started it.  I think.  Anyway, point is, she can be stopped, but the real threat here is Sam.  He learned from the best.”

“You?”

Dean grinned.  “Damn right!  And I have less than a week to teach you everything you need to know about holding your ground.  Oh shit, they’re making a move and we don’t have a strategy.”

“A strategy?”

“Chicken fight.  Get on my shoulders.”

“Get on your-?”

“C’mon, my shoulders, what are you-?”  Dean cocked his head to the right, a mirror image of Cas.  “You’ve never played chicken?”  He rolled his head to face Sam and called, “Time out!”

“Time out?”  Sam asked at the same time as Jess hollered, “You can’t call time out!” 

Dean flashed his open palm.  “Five more minutes.”

“Five more minutes, Jess,” Sam whispered up to the girl on his shoulders.

“Okay, we’ll just have to find something else to do.”  She pulled him backwards by his hair so they both splashed down.  She wriggled to the surface and wound her arm around his and led him back towards the deep end.  “Come along, sweetie.”

“But we don’t have to play if you don’t want to,” Dean told Cas.   

“No, I do want to.”  He snuck a peek around Dean’s head at Sam and Jess, swimming in aimless circles around each other.  They looked like they belonged in the water.  Like a mermaid mating display.    “Huh.”  Cas shook the image out of his head and recaptured Dean’s gaze.  “They’re … fun.”

“Like I said, puppies.  They’re rambunctious, but I promise, they’re harmless.”  He put his arms out under the water and grabbed ahold of Cas’ hands.  “If you don’t want to-”

Cas took a deep breath.  “I do.  Explain to me what we’re doing.”

It took a Cas a few duels to feel comfortable knocking Jess into the water.  And she being a wily little thing, she managed to push both Dean _and_ Cas off-balance more often than not. 

He found it a little strange to wrap his legs around Dean’s head.  Stranger still that Dean, who had been so nervous the night before, suddenly didn’t blink to help Cas onto his shoulders.  And if Cas could feel his skull through the swim trunks, what must Dean feel?  When the teammates swapped places, his suspicions were confirmed.  By this point, though, he had discovered that there were far more pressing concerns, like not drowning.  Or getting a faceful of water, which was practically the same thing.  Jess, in particular, looked like she should have been fatally plunged under the surface by Sam’s weight on her shoulders. 

More than anything, though, it was just … fun.  None of the other participants seemed concerned about the potential awkwardness of digging one’s crotch into their partner’s hair.  When Dean traded places with Jess, Cas felt uncomfortable for ever considering the sexual implications of the game.  At least until Dean threw barbs at him about the hot blonde straddling him.  Cas decided his best recourse to that was to slice at the water with his palm, splashing a sharp stream directly at Dean’s face.

Dean yelped and held both hands to his left eye.  “Ow!  Shit, dude!”

Cas felt terrible.

Sam asked, “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.  I didn’t close my eye fast enough and a little got in.  Ow.”  He rubbed at it and opened it experimentally.  “Jesus, that’s some good aim.  Is it red?” he asked Cas.

“Yes.  I’m sorry, Dean, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Nah, I’m good, just permanently blind in one eye, I’m good.”  But he laughed, and made Cas agree that he was just joking.

Sam laughed, too.  “Dude, remember the pool balls?”

“Yeah?”  He blinked a few times and appeared to be back to normal.  “What of it?”

“He blinded you.  With science.”

Even Cas groaned.

They played and splashed and floated until Jess pointed up at the pyramid.  “Look, you can see the beam of light shining from the top.”

“It’s getting dark,” Cas observed, glancing west at the clouds fading from pink to purple. 

“And cold,” Dean complained. 

Cas sank lower in the water and wrapped his arms and legs around Dean’s torso.  “Better?” 

He grinned and pushed his forehead against Cas’.  If anyone but them noticed that his hands went under Cas’ ass to support him in the water, no one said a word about it.

“Did you bring any towels?” Sam asked Jess quietly.

“What, like it’s my job?”  she huffed.  “But no.  You guys bring towels?”

“Uh.”

“No.”

“Shit,” Jess muttered.  “Do we sit out until we dry off some or make a break for it?”

“I say we make a break for it, head up to the rooms to change,” Dean suggested.  “The elevator isn’t so far.  You guys wanna meet downstairs for dinner, or do you have other plans?”  He asked it casually; maybe he really was getting over the shock at breakfast.

“No plans, but-”

“But don’t wait up,” Jess giggled.

“Jesus, Jess, you hoochie!” 

“Dean!”  Cas was scandalized.

He hushed him with a soft look and a rough thumb over his lips.  “I’m just teasing, babe.  It’s fine.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Cas could see Sam and Jess turning away.   They seemed to be amused.  He returned his full attention to Dean.

By the time they climbed out of the pool, their fingers and toes were painfully wrinkled and Sam and Jess were long gone. 

“I need a hot shower when we get back to the room.  How about you?”

Cas nodded and his teeth chattered when he answered.  “Definitely.”

“You’re freezing!  You go first, okay?”

“It’s fine.  You called it.”

Dean held his tongue until they made it to the elevator.  As they were the only ones in the carriage, he asked, “What if we go in together?”

Cas swiveled to face Dean.  “Into the shower, you mean?”

“Yeah,” Dean whispered.  He sounded shy.  “We can keep our swimsuits on.  If you want.”

“Um.”

“Forget it.  It was a dumb idea.”

“I’m not saying no, Dean.  I’m just not sure-”

“It’s too much.  I know, sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Are you ready for that?” Cas asked softly.

“Um.”  Dean sighed and slumped against the back wall.  “I guess not.  Sorry.”

The elevator doors opened onto their floor.  Cas took Dean’s hand and dragged him out into the hallway.  It was blessedly deserted.  He crowded him against the wall and folded his arms around Dean’s waist.  He held Dean close for some minutes, stealing his body heat and letting his breath curl warm against his neck.  “You shouldn’t feel you have to apologize for everything,” Cas murmured into the cold skin of Dean’s shoulder.  “I don’t fault you for anything.”

“I know,” he mumbled.  “It’s just me, just a habit, I guess.” 

“Dr Fuller asked me to keep track of the number of times I said it in a day.”

“Yeah?”

“I once counted a hundred apologies in one day.”  He leaned back and took in Dean’s soft expression.  “I’m not uneducable, you see.  And neither are you.  It’s just a matter of learning new habits and unlearning the bad ones.”

Dean smirked wryly.  “Thought you didn’t like your therapist.”

“He knows his job.  Doesn’t mean he always knows his patients.” 

Cas shivered once, and Dean’s caretaker instincts kicked in.  Rubbing his hands up and down Cas’ back, he proposed they move along.  “Let’s get you into a hot shower, ’kay?” 

He didn’t dare argue.  He let Dean give him the bathroom first, though Dean happily puttered in and out of the warm shower room, laying out two fresh towels alongside a set of dry clothes for each of them.  “I thought we’d try the pub at New York tonight,” he said, purposefully averting his eyes from the shower and its occupant, a task made all the harder by the glass doors and the immense mirror spanning the opposite wall.  “Shouldn’t be too crowded on a Wednesday night, right?  I didn’t think to make reservations anywhere.”

“We’ll have to remember that for next time,” but even as Cas said the words, his stomach fluttered.  Would there ever be a next time?

The way Dean’s breath caught and he ducked his head made Cas believe that there was a chance.

 “I’m coming out now.”

“Okay.  You do that.  I’m, uh, I’m gonna go call, uh, Sam.  I’m gonna call Sam.  Tell him where we’re, um.  Okay.”

Cas grinned.  “You do that.”

 

 

**Thursday September 22**

**_0530, Luxor_ **

The wake-up call came through before the sun was up.  If Cas heard, he played possum flawlessly.  Dean nudged him, trying to reclaim his arm.  “I’m not your damn teddy bear,” he chuckled into Cas’ thick hair.  The only response to that was a grunt and a wriggle, but his movement let Dean slip free.  “Coffee, babe?”  Another grunt, less noncommittal this time.

Dean smiled as he threw on his date clothes from the night before.  They were cleaner than anything else he had with him.  To call them date clothes was a bit of a stretch anyway: a dark blue shirt, a red flannel, the same old jeans and boots he’d worn the whole trip, hardly dressy.  Dean’s fashion sense tended towards conspicuously nondescript, with an eye for durability and a dash of doesn’t-show-dirt.  The remnants of a childhood spent living out of a duffel bag.

He dropped a kiss to Cas’ temple and stole out of the room.

***

Cas had gotten as far as sitting up on Dean’s side of the bed with his feet on the floor and the heels of his hands digging into his eyes.  His phone lay face down in the middle of the other bed.

“Not a morning person, huh?”

Cas glared at him.

“Whoa.  If looks could kill, I’d be a smoking crater.  Here, got you something.”  He shoved a large black coffee between Cas’ gorgeous hands.

“Krispy Kreme,” he rasped with all the enthusiasm he could muster.  Which was not much.  He inhaled the scented air escaping the vent and sighed, if not happily at least contentedly.  “Thank you, Dean.”

“Welcome.  There’s doughnuts, too.”

“Hot and delicious?”  His tone was still flat, but with a shred of hope.

“Delicious, yes; hot, eh.”

“I don’t care.  Gimme.”  He held out a grabby claw as Dean approached with the box.  For all his impatience, though, he took tiny bites and chewed each one thoroughly.

“Too tired to eat?”

He nodded and sipped his coffee.  Slowly, slowly.

“Alright, but get your rear in gear.  We’re meeting Sam at the car in thirty.”

“’Kay.  I’m packed except for the things in the bathroom.  Going there now.”

Dean made a sweeping gesture with his hands to say, “Be my guest.”  He watched as Cas shuffled into a grey crewneck shirt and a fresh pair of jeans.  Maybe “fresh” was the wrong word.  Soft, yes; faded, definitely: they hadn’t been fresh since the Clinton administration.  Dean tried not to admire the way they hugged Cas’ ass, nor how low they hung on his hips.  Dean closed his eyes and tried to shake off the image of him shimmying into his shirt, only to find himself staring down a much more terrifying idea: what would it be like to wake up to this shambling mound of awesome every morning?  _Sex, what sex?_  he thought idly.  _It would be worth it,_ he thought less idly.  As the door snicked shut, he wandered over to the bed to sit.  Maybe asking the hard questions and thinking things through weren’t Dean Winchester’s strongest suits, but Cas had him making all kinds of exceptions.

 

 

**_0657, Las Vegas, NV_ **

Cas and Dean had already stowed their bags and were in the front seat, steadily plowing through Krispy Kremes, when Sam and Jess strolled up. 

“What took you guys so long?” Dean asked, hopping out to re-open the trunk.

“Long story, you probably don’t want to hear about it,” Jess laughed.

“Gross.”

Sam stopped smiling to say, “So Dean, Jess, uh, she offered to drive me the rest of the way.”

Dean shook his head uncomprehending.  “Why?”

“She thinks that-”

“I thought that maybe- No, you say it.”

“No, go on, you can say it.”

“Okay.  Um, Dean, we were talking and we were concerned that maybe you … maybe you needed some time.  A break from Sam.”

“Why would you say-” Dean started.

Sam pointed his eyes in Cas’ general direction.  “Maybe having me there is too much family togetherness, you know what I mean?  Maybe you need some time.  With your friend.”

“With my- Look, guys, I appreciate what you’re trying to do here.  Really, it’s very sweet and hardly obnoxious or meddling at all-”

Jess and Sam exchanged glances.  Hers said, “Your brother is a pain in the ass.”  His said, “I told you so.”

“Hey, cut the telepathic crap, okay.  I wrote the fucking book on telepathic crap, you got it?  Now.  Is there any _other_ reason you’d rather ride with Jess than with me?”

“A reason _I’d_ rather?  No.  I mean, I wouldn’t mind,” turning a million-megawatt smile on Jess that was equally parts blinding and disgusting.  His attention slowly drifted back to his brother.  “But I’ll get to see her all the time once we get there.  Whereas you-”

Dean’s expression turned surly.  His eyes went hard and his mouth twisted into a pout.  “Whereas I’ll be halfway to Fuckyousville in a week’s time, yeah I get it,” he growled.

“That’s not what I meant, Dean, and you know it!  I just wondered if-”

“Dean.”  He jumped as Cas crept out of nowhere and laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“Jesus, Cas!”

“Your brother is trying to be kind,” speaking softly and angling him slightly away from Jess and Sam.

He fisted his hair and blew out a long breath.  “Yeah, I know.”  

Cas gave him a pleading look, and Dean sighed again.  “I’m sorry, Sam.  Look, I can’t- I’d rather you didn’t ride with Jess,” his voice flat.  “For the same reason.  This is my last chance to drive you to school, and I’m not- Dammit Sammy, I’m not ready to give up on you yet!”

Sam shook his head, his forehead wrinkled into a concerned frown.  “Dean, you’re not giving up on me.  I’m a big boy, I’m in college, I have my own credit card with my name on it and everything!”  Only Jess laughed at that. Dean, and Cas too, remained stoically silent, and Sam still looked worried.  “You understand that, right, Dean?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, of course I do, I just, this is all new to me.  It’s gonna take more than a day to wrap my head around the idea that my little brother is leaving the nest, alright?”

Sam shrugged but he nodded his understanding.  “Right.  I get that.”

“Good.  Good.  So in the meantime, I’d rather you rode with me, _capisce_?”

 “No problem, Dean.  Really, I want to!  We good?”

“Yeah.”  Dean sounded tired.  “We’re good.”

 

 

**_0708, NV (US-95)_ **

In the end, Dean decided that he should take the first shift out, Sam in front and Mr Grumpypants in back.  They all stayed awake for a few hours, though.  The sugar from the doughnuts helped them into friendlier moods, and the three of them, but particularly those in the front seat, passed the time by burbling happily about the detour to Vegas, the show, the casinos, the food.  A few topics were very carefully avoided by unspoken agreement.  Cas wondered acerbically if the Winchester parents had read the same handbook on suppressing communication skills as his own parents.

Dean stopped talking completely after Sam fell asleep.  He was quiet for a long while, and Cas thought that maybe he was just absorbed in the music, until he realized that his thumbs were still, not tapping on the steering wheel like they always did.  He opened his mouth to ask if he’d said something wrong, or-

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

He canted his head towards Cas, just for a second before returning his eyes to the road.  “You asked me what was in Kansas.  There’s nothing.  Ghosts, maybe.”

“Ghosts.”

“Yeah.  My mom, my dad, everyone I ever-  I don’t have any family left, except Sam.  I thought of it as home, because I thought Sam did.  I mean, he always came back to Kansas eventually, right, so I thought-  But it’s not his, it never was.  Not mine either.  I’m suffocating, Cas.”  He peeked at his friend.  More than a friend.  Dean fell silent again, staring straight ahead.  He flipped the radio for a while before leaving it between stations.  “The sound of the universe,” Cas had called the static, “the music of the spheres.”  _Huh._

 

 

**1923, Stanford, CA**

Musical chairs after lunch put Sam in the driver’s seat and Cas riding shotgun, with Dean supposedly catching some shuteye in the back. He couldn’t sleep at first.  No matter how many times he told himself to stop worrying about what to do with Cas, the thought recurred over and over: could a long-distance relationship work? 

He didn’t realize that he’d zonked out until he woke up at the house, Sam jiggling his leg, telling him to get out and help.  He could see Cas at the front door, fiddling with the lock in the glare of headlights; he’d run ahead to unlock the door and to check that all was in order.  As he reminded the Winchesters, his brother could be something of a trickster.  He wanted to ensure that nothing was amiss.  Meanwhile, Sam and Dean loaded their arms with luggage.  Cas flipped all of the lights on and let them in, directing them to leave the bags in the foyer until he could give them the grand tour: master suite on one side of the house, two smaller bedrooms with a shared bathroom on the other, common areas in the middle.  All furnished in a lavish modern style, geometric shapes paired with sumptuous fabrics and rich colors.

Dean marveled at the kitchen.  It occupied almost as much space as the sunken living room, with its heavy yet somehow elegant stone fireplace.  And this was a professional kitchen if ever Dean had seen one, with all stainless steel appliances, four gas burners and a griddle/grill component on the stove top, a massive hood.  It had two separate ovens plus an oversize microwave and a toaster oven half-hidden behind an impossibly complicated espresso machine.  “I guess I know where we’re having Thanksgiving this year, huh, Sam?”

“The kitchen is all brand-new,” Cas explained, “at least since Gabe acquired the house.  He had it all redone as a favor for his ‘personal chef.’”

"Hell yeah, I'd be a 'personal chef' for a sweet set-up like this," Dean joked.  Half-joked.  Okay, he was pretty serious.  When Cas turned questioning eyes on him, though, he avoided his gaze.

Maybe Sam the Fifty-Foot Cupid read more into it than Dean wanted him to, because he almost immediately volunteered to run over to the warehouse to pick up their boxes.  Even though it was eight o’clock on a Sunday evening, and there was no way in hell that it would be open. 

As Sam disappeared into the twilight, Cas cornered Dean, pressed him up against the granite countertop and smoothed his hands along his sides and his chest, ostensibly straightening his shirt.  He kissed him once, sweetly, without much heat.

Dean let himself get lost in Cas anyway. 

When Cas pulled away, Dean stared at him for a long moment.  At length, he asked, “Is this real?”

“Is what real?”

“This.  Us.  Is there any ‘us?’”

Cas hummed.  “Do you want there to be?”

Dean shrugged apologetically.  “Is it wrong that I already think of you as my boyfriend?”

With a shake of his head, Cas replied with a second kiss.  This one deeper, with more of a promise.  “Do you love me, Dean?” he murmured.

“I think I do, yeah.  Crazy, right?”

“You should stay.”

“Yeah okay, I am pretty tired.”

“I meant long-term.”

Dean pulled his head back, held Cas at arm’s length.  “Wh- uh, what do you mean, Cas?”

"I mean.  I want you to stay in California with me.  And Sam.  Sam comes first, obviously.  But also with me.  If, if you’re interested.  You could have the third room.”  He hung his head and mumbled towards Dean’s chest, “Or stay with me.” 

“Cas.  I.”

“And there’s a classic-car shop two blocks from campus that always claims to be hiring.   Or even a nearby culinary school if you want.  It’s your choice, all of it.”  Dean continued to stare, and Cas sweetened the pot.  “And, and I'll look for a new therapist if you will," he challenged.  Dean shifted his arms around Cas' neck, so he could stroke his hair.  He smiled; Cas frowned.  “Although it could mean knowing indisputably that my brain is wired-”

“How, Cas?” he asked softly.

 “Differently.”

"Not even a question," he breathed and kissed him deeply. When they surfaced, Dean added, "As long as you're happy."

Unsmiling, solemnly, Cas leaned his forehead against Dean's. "I'm not sure I know what that word means."

"Me neither," he returned, "but I sure want to find out with you."

 


End file.
